"  YOU    £AM  E  ,  I  THOUGHT,  FROM   FRESH  AND 
FRAGRANT    M  ELDS, 


/.ND  THROVJ  ITJ  PURPLE   GLEA 


' 


ALICE  CH/\DBOI/RNTE 

^UQU^TA  C.  DAVl<x 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


9I 


ARE, 


BY 
ALICE    CHADBOURNE. 

(AUGUSTA  C.  DAVIS.) 


PORTLAND: 

FORD  &  RICH,  PUBLISHERS. 

1890. 


TS 


TO   THE    MEMORY    OF 

MY  SISTER, 

WHOSE    LIFE    WAS   A    SWEETER   AND    TRUER   POEM 
THAN   ANY   I   CAN   EVER   HOPE    TO    WRITE, 

I  DEDICATE 

THIS   LITTLE   VOLUME. 


The  following  poems  written  at  intervals  and  without 
thought  of  publication  in  permanent  form,  have  been  collected 
into  the  present  volume,  at  the  suggestion  of  friends,  whose 
kindness,  perhaps,  has  accorded  them  a  merit  far  greater  than 
they  have  any  right  to  claim. 

Deprived  of  sight,  I  cannot  well  give  them  the  revision, 
that  might  render  them  more  worthy  of  the  critical  reader;  yet, 
as  expressions  of  earnest  feeling  and  of  real  experience,  I  can 
not  help  hoping  they  may  carry  a  cheery  message,  or  word  of 
comfort  to  some  sorrowful  soul,  who  is  waiting,  alone,  in  the 
shadow. 

ALICE  CHADBOURNE. 


VIOLETS. 

OOME,  sisters,  come  !  therj  ne'er  was  born  a 
^     morning 

So  purely  bright  as  this ; 
I  long  to  watch  the  rosy  glory  dawning 

Under  the  sun's  warm  kiss. 

I  know  a  hiding-place  of  fragrant  treasures, 

The  spring's  late,  lovely  flowers ; 
Oh,  come !  the  season  brims  with  dainty  pleasures 

For  happy  hearts  like  ours. 

I  watched  them  go,  while  bitter  thoughts  were 

springing, 

I,  too,  loved  all  things  fair: 
Yearned  for  the  sweetness  flowers  abroad  were 

flinging 
On  the  delicious  air. 

Why  must  the  sunshine  pure  and  bright  and 
glowing 

That  touched  them  but  to  bless 
And  fill  each  heart  with  gladness  overflowing, 

Bring  me  so  sharp  distress? 


POEMS  FROM  TARE. 

Why  must  such  wealth  of  pleasant  things  be 
yielded  ? 

No  woodland  flowers  for  me. 
Ah,  faithless  heart,  by  the  cool  grasses  shielded, 

What  sight  sprang  fair  to  see  ? 

Beyond  my  window,  'neath  the  clustered  whiteness 

Of  fragrant  cherry-trees, 
Blooming  in  beauty,  'mid  the  shaded  brightness 

Kissed  by  the  charmed  breeze ; 

Lifting  their  fair  heads  to  receive  the  blessing 

God  sends  and  ne'er  forgets; 
Giving  back  incense  for  the  sun's  caressing, 

Nestled  sweet  violets. 

Shamed  and  yet  thrilled  with  gladness  at  the 
vision. 

The  tears  came  springing  fast, 
Quick  footsteps  brought  me  to  the  spot  Elysian, 

All  bitter  murmurs  past. 

For  me,  for  me,  O  blue  eyes  deep  and  tender ! 

For  me,  O  rare  perfume ; 
Ah,  if,  like  you,  I,  too,  sweet  praise  might  render 

For  all  this  gift  of  bloom. 

God  does  remember ;  in  our  sorest  trial 

Peace  comes,  or  late,  or  soon ; 
His  loving  hand,  'mid  life's  most  stern  denial, 

Bestows  some  blessed  boon. 


POEMS  FROM  YABE. 


AGNES. 


s  I  sit  in  my  chamber  at  night, 

While  the  stars  softly  bloom  in  the  sky, 
And  the  moon,  with  pale  glory  alight, 

Hangs,  trembling,  in  blue  depths  on  high, 
I  list,  as  I've  listened  before, 
For  a  gay  little  knock  at  my  door 
And  the  sweet,  happy  ringing  of  Agnes'  voice 

singing 
A  song  which  will  sound  nevermore. 

Oh,  it  must  be  a  terrible  dream  ! 

Those  long  weeks  of  anguish  and  dread  ; 
When  we  watched,  with  hope's  flickering  gleam, 
Till  they  spoke  the  strange  words,  "She 

is  dead." 

But  the  musical  voice  was  so  clear, 
And  the  glad  little  tones  were  so  dear, 
That,  while  I  am  waiting,  my  very  breath  bating, 
They  seem  to  be  echoing  near. 


POEMS  FROM  YABE. 

And,  I  answer  "  Come  in  pretty  bird  ! 

With  your  odd,  little  fanciful  lay; 
It  is  time  the  sweet  carol  I  heard, — 

Come,  sing  me  your  song  of  to-day:" 
Then  quickly  the  door  flashes  wide, 
And  swiftly  there  springs  to  my  side, 
A  wee,  dainty  maiden,  with  happy  thoughts  laden 
And  life  flowing  full  like  the  tide. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  it  is  night, 

And  I  can  come  straight  to  your  room," 
She  begins,  in  a  tone  of  delight, 

That  rings  through  the  silvery  gloom ; 
As  I  fold  close  the  delicate  form, 
'  Mid  a  shower  of  soft  kisses  warm, 
With  loving  arms  twining,  and  wondrous  eyes 

shining, 
As  bright  as  the  stars  after  storm. 

Then  she  gives  her  strange  fancy  full  play, 

And  sings  me  a  song  of  the  sea  ; 
A  rhymeless,  but  musical  lay, 

As  perfect  as  perfect  can  be ; 
And  there  comes  o'er  the  sweet,  thoughtful  face 

A  tender  and  exquisite  grace, 
As  of  one  who,  in  dreaming,  sees  soft  splendor 
streaming 

From  out  of  some  glorified  place. 


POEMS  FROM  YABE.  n 

Ah !  the  quaint  little  songs  are  all  sung ; 

Closed  to  us  are  the  beautiful  eyes ; 
But  the  clear  voice  is  chanting  among 

Christ's  little  ones  called  to  the  skies ; 
And  though  our  hearts  ache  and  we  miss 
The  joy  and  the  song  and  the  kiss, 
Yet  sweet  is  the  feeling  that  God  is  revealing 
His  love,  in-  sore  trials  like  this. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


THE  BLESSING  OF  THE  ICE  CREAM. 


summer  day,  into  a  thronged  saloon, 
A  lovely  mother  with  her  children  came ; 
Two  little  fairies,  blithe  as  birds  in  June, 

And  fair  as  fairest  flower  that  I  could  name. 

Before  the  eager  little  ones  was  placed 

The  frosty  dainty,  sought  by  young  and  old, 

When  Winter  yields  the  glitt'ring  throne  he  graced, 
And  languid  airs  our  drooping  forms  enfold. 

A  moment's  pause,  and,  then,  a  strange  command 
Rang  softly  out.     The  youngest  baby  said, 

Laying  her  tiny  snow-flake  of  a  hand 

Upon  her  sister's,  "Bessie,  bow  your  head!  " 

And  there,  amid  ihe  merry,  careless  crowd, 
The  children's  golden  heads  were  lowly 

bent; 
While  they  besought,  sweet-voiced  and  quiet 

browed, 
A  blessing  on  the  feast  their  Father  sent. 


POEMS  FROM  TARE.  13 

A  hush  fell  on  the  stirred  and  list'ning  throng; 

Laughter  and  jest  were  ended,  and  a  tear 
Stole  down  unchecked,  from  eyes  unmoistened 
long 

By  holy  mem'ries.     Out  into  the  clear, 

Hot  noontide,  through  the  surge  and  whirl 
Of  busy  life,  was  borne  in  many  a  heart 

A  tender  picture  of  that  baby-girl 

Yielding  her  tribute  in  the  city  mart. 


14  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


EDITH. 


from  the  fairy  realm  of  childhood, 
Into  the  glowing  land  of  youth  ; 
As  sweet  as  a  rose  from  the  dewy  wildwood, 
She  comes  with  her  treasure  of  love  and 
truth. 

Where  has  she  garnered  such  store  of  gladness 
In  a  world  that  is  heavy  with  care  like  ours  ? 

Is  it  her  mission  to  charm  the  sadness 

From  aching  hearts  and  to  scatter  flowers 

Where,  bare  and  lonely,  the  pathway  leads  us 
Through  dreary  regions  of  loss  and  pain 

And  bring,  with  a  comforting  page  she  reads  us, 
The  light  to  the  darkened  day  again  ? 

So  it  seems  to  me,  as  I  wait  her  coming, 

At  autumn  twilight,  or  summer  noon ; 

As  blithe  as  the  bees  in  their  rythmic  humming, 
She  keeps  our  natures  in  perfect  tune. 

With  joyous  grace  and  with  ready  measure, 
She  joins  the  dance  in  the  festive  hall ; 

Ever  a  star  in  the  world  of  pleasure. 
Ever  a  welcome  guest  to  all. 


POEMS  FROM  YABE.  15 

Then  she  turns  again  to  her  loving  labor, 

When  merry  music  and  dance  are  done 

And  she  comes  and  sits  with  her  prosy  neighbor, 
As  if  nothing  were  better  beneath  the  sun, 

And  to  cheer  the  lot  of  the  heavy  laden, 

To  lift  the  burden,  to  gild  the  gloom, 

Were  the  wonted  tasks  of  a  care-free  maiden, 
A  graceful  girl  in  her  early  bloom. 

O  heart  unselfish  and  blue  eyes  tender ! 

O  sunny  spirit  and  helpful  hand ! 
May  the  gracious  care  of  our  God  defend  her 

Frbm  all  that  could  harm  her  on  sea  or 
land. 

From  every  ill  that  would  mar  her  being, 

Or  check  the  growth  of  her  noble  powers ; 

From  joy,  that  would  lessen  her  soul's  clear-see 
ing, 
Or  barter  its  wealth  for  a  wreath  of  flowers. 

May  every  good  that  can  speed  her  faring 
To  lofty  levels  and  prospect  wide, 

Be  hers,  'till  the  crown  for  the  Christian's  wearing 
Shall  brighten  her  brow  on  the  other  side. 


16  POEMS  FEOM  YAEE. 


LED    HOME. 


WHEN  I  recall  the  young  life  passed  away, 
There  comes  to  me  a  picture  dim  and 

sweet ; 
The  lovely  closing  of  a  summer's  day, 

And  a  lithe  form  across  the  shadowy 
street. 

A  lovely  twilight,  but  obscure  and  blind 

The  path  unto  my  darkened  eyes  appeared ; 

In  vain  I  sought  an  entrance  safe  to  find, 

My  home  receded  as  its  rest  I  neared. 

Soft,  on  the  silence,  stole  a  sudden  sound, 

And  a  low  voice  rang  like  a  silver  bell : — 

"Oh !  stay  a  moment,  please ;  the  way  you've  found 
Leads  into  danger;"  then  the  darkness 
fell. 

But  close  beside  me  spoke  my  helpful  friend : — 
"  I  have  been  watching  you,  afraid  of 
harm ; " 

And  thus  my  anxious  quest  found  happy  end ; 

Thanks  to  the  little  guiding  hand  and  arm. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  17 

To-day,  while  tears  fall  fast  at  thought  of  her, 
The  tender  mother ;  the  devoted  wife ; 

Sweet  words  of  comfort  'mid  the  shadows  stir; 

And  clear  the  problem  of  this  broken  life. 

There  is  a  Friend,  who  watches  all  our  ways, 

And,  though  the  path  we  tread  seem  safe 

and  fair; 
He  sees  our  danger  and  our  progress  stays, 

Leading  us  home  with  gracious  love  and 
care. 


i8  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 


A   MEMORY. 


TN  the  fair  month  of  roses,  long  ago, 
-*-     Amid  the  song  and  sunshine  and  the  glow 
Of  summer  tints,  there  came  a  little  child 
Into  my  home,  sweet  as  the  violet  wild. 

No  bird  upon  its  tree, 
E'er  found  life  half  so  rare  a  boon  as  she. 

My  pen  has  little  power  to  paint  the  grace 
Of  this  wee  maiden,  or  the  changeful  face 
That  flashed  a  joyous  greeting  to  the  sun, 
Yet  grew  so  strangely  glad  when  day  was  done ; 

And,  in  the  star-lit  night, 
Mirrored  the  shy,  sweet  thoughts  that  shunned 

the  light. 

In  her  brief  life  before,  she  had  not  known 
The  freedom  of  a  home  she  called  her  own ; 
And  reveled  in  it,  now,  as  city  child 
Drinks  in  the  freshness  of  the  country  wild  ; 

We  watched  her  blithesome  play, 
And  held  our  treasure  closer,  day  by  day. 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  19 

There  was  a  window  in  our  cottage  roof, 
Where  Agnes  loved  to  weave  the  warp  and  woof 
Of  her  quaint  fancies ;  and  the  iron  bar, 
Holding  the  casement  when  it  swung  afar, 

Stirred  me  to  vague  alarm, 
Lest  it  might  work  our  little  poet  harm. 

The  mother  called  her  lovely  child  to  stand 
Beneath  the  window,  and,  with  careful  hand, 
Measured  the  space  above  the  sunny  head ; 
And  then  she  turned  to  me  and,  smiling,  said, 

"Do  not  be  troubled,  dear  ! 
She  will  not  reach  that  height  within  the  year." 

Too  soon  the  lavish  summer  spent  its  gold ; 
I  had  not  thought  one  little  heart  could  hold 
Such  wealth  of  joy  as  dowered  our  little  maid, 
Whether  she  sang  in  sunshine  or  in  shade  ; 

All  fairest  things  above 
Seemed  to  bend  over  her  in  silent  love. 

And  when  the  regal  season  breathed  farewell, 
Though  warm  and  sweet  still  lay  her  rosy  spell, 
The  watchful  Father,  loving  more  than  we, 
Called  to  His  little  one,  "Come  unto  Me ! " 

My  boding  fears  were  vain. 
No  harm  can  reach  her,  now ;  no  sin  can  stain. 


POEMS  FROM  YARE. 


MY  DREAM. 


1    I  ow  vivid  was  my  dream  ! 

-L     You  came,  I  thought,  from  fresh  and  fra 
grant  fields; 

From  the  low  music  of  Yare's  pleasant  stream, 
Where  the  wee  violet  its  incense  yields, 
And  throws  its  puiple  gleam. 

I  heard  your  gentle  tread, 
Just  as  I  heard  it  on  still  afternoons, 
When  life  and  hope  were  to  each  other  wed, 
In  cool  Septembers  and  in  glowing  Junes, 

Before  earth's  sunshine  fled. 

I  heard  your  little  feet, 

And  all  my  heart  grew  light  and  glad  once  more. 
I  could  not  linger,  but,  with  footsteps  fleet, 
I  sprang  to  clasp  you  at  the  open  door ; 

Joy's  benison  was  sweet! 

There,  in  the  sunset  warm, 
With  the  old,  winsome  grace,  I  saw  you  stand ; 
The  golden  glory  wrapped  your  slender  form, 
And,  on  my  soul,  at  touch  of  your  dear  hand, 
Fell  calm,  as  after  storm. 


POEMS  FROM  YABE. 

I  saw  the  happy  play. 

Of  light  and  love  in  your  dark,  lustrous  eyes ; 
I  heard  your  clear  voice,  blithe  as  morning,  say, 
In  tender  little  accents  of  surprise, 

"Have  I  been  long  away  ? " 

Dearest,  is  it  not  long  ? 
O  sweetest  spirit  that  e'er  blest  my  days ; 
O  gentlest  soul  that  ever  hated  wrong; 
O  sunny  heart  that  gladdened  all  our  ways, 

Sister !  is  it  not  long  ? 

Is  it  not  long  to  miss 

The  tenderness  that  crowned  me  day  by  day ; 
The  light  of  loving  eyes,  the  clasp,  the  kiss, 
The  interchange  of  thought  and  fancy's  play? 

Yet,  not  for  Heaven's  own  bliss 

Would  I  inure,  again, 

My  treasured  one  to  earth's  unending  care; 
Far  better  life-long  loneliness  and  pain, 
Than  shadow  fall  on  lot  so  sweet  and  fair, 

Or  loss  defraud  her  gain. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


RESPICIENS. 


H"j?HE  rosy  firelight  shadows  soft  are  gleaming 

Upon  the  half-shut  door, 

The  clear  white  moonlight,  through  the  window 
streaming, 

Lies  all  along  the  floor. 

Do  not  bring  lamps.     'Tis  sweet  to  bathe  in  bright 
ness 

So  pure  and  yet  so  warm. 
Let  fancy  give  the  heart  its  early  lightness ; 

Forget  life's  cold  and  storm. 

How  many  nights,  in  just  such  cloudless  glory, 

We  sat  together  here 
And  wrote  the  sweetest  part  of  all  life's  story, 

With  pens  sun-tipt  and  clear ! 

How  many  times,  with  fervent  speech  and  golden, 

One  came  at  set  of  sun. 
How  many  times,  from  "language  quaint  and  olden," 

Read  what  the  world  has  done ! 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  23 

How  many  times,  when  pleasant  talk  was  ending, 

And  books,  a  priceless  throng, 
Lay  with  closed  lids,  our  thoughts  and  feelings 
blending, 

Soft  blossomed  into  song ! 

My  friend.     Your  more  than  friend.     What  wealth 
of  treasure 

God  gave  us  in  those  days  ! 
Shall  we  forget,  'mid  sorrow's  bitter  measure, 

To  render  grateful  praise? 

What,  if  a  few,  brief  years  held  all  our  gladness, 

And  then  long  anguish  came  ? 
The  full,  rich  strain  breathed  not  one  note  of  sad 
ness, 

But  brimmed  with  sweet  acclaim. 

Is  it  not  better  to  have  known  and  cherished 

One  rare  and  noble  heart, 
Though  from  our  side  the  earthly  form  has  perished, 

And  we  must  walk  apart, 

Than  to  have  had,  through  all  earth's  weary  changes, 
Those  meaner  friendships  given, 

That  could  not  lead  us  up  to  higher  ranges, 
Nor  help  us  on  to  Heaven? 


24  POEMS  FEOM  TARE. 

Ah,  brave,  strong  heart !     Ah,  brain  with  rich  thought 
glowing ! 

Shot  through  by  traitor-hand  ! 
God  took  the  costly  gift  of  His  bestowing, 

Offered  for  father-land. 

He  comes  no  more,  his  warm,  bright  presence  lend 
ing 

New  grace,  as  joys  unfold  ; 
He  comes  no  more,  for  us  so  freely  spending 

His  intellect's  fine  gold. 

Silence  and  cold,  where  smile,  and  glow,  and  bless 
ing 

Answered  your  lightest  speech  ; 
Where  glance  and  touch  were  but  the  mute  caressing, 

Such  love  alone  can  teach. 

The  dainty  little  child,  white-robed  and  gifted 

With  all  the  mother's  grace, 
May  never  to  her  father's  heart  be  lifted, 

Or  cheer  his  noble  face. 

But  when,  at  length,  the  long,  long  path  is  ended, 

The  joy,  earth  but  begun, 
To  fairer  climes  and  blessed  hearts  ascended, 

Shall  brighten  as  the  sun. 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  25 


GRACE. 


[  (  T  am  so  very  little,  auntie,  dear  ! 

•*•     How  can  a  child,  as  young  as  I,  and  small, 
Do  any  good,  or  help  to  aid  and  cheer 

The  people,  who  are  wise  and  strong  and  tall  ?  " 

"Ah,  tiny  Mabel  !  with  your  earnest  face 

And  lifted  gaze,  you  mind  me  well,  of  one, 

Who  seemed  to  me  —  dear,  little  blue-eyed  Grace  — 
The  sweetest  comforter  beneath  the  sun. 

"As  young  as  you,  and  very  fair  to  see  ; 

Strangers,  in  passing,  paused,  and  paused  again, 
Charmed  by  the  smiling  glance  and  motion  free, 

Of  the  slight  figure  at  the  window-pane. 

"  For  me,  I  loved  each  lock  of  shining  gold, 

The  dark-hued,  violet  eyes,  the  white-rose  cheek  ; 

But,  more  than  these,  the  heart  that  could  enfold 
A  love,  whose  eloquence  no  tongue  could  speak. 

"A  deep,  strange  trouble  came  to  me  to  bear  ; 

So  dread,  death  would  have  been  a  welcome 

boon; 
Dear  friends  were  kind  and  helpful,  and  their  care 

Encircled  me  at  night-time  and  at  noon. 


26  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

"  But,  in  the  gloom  that  gathered  fast  around, 
Under  the  burden  of  this  anguish  wild. 

I  ever  shall  remember  that  I  found 

My  sweetest  solace  in  a  little  child. 

"A  little  child,  who  left  her  happy  play, 

And  nestled  in  my  arms  with  soothing  speech, 

Not  for  a  moment,  but,  through  all  the  day 
Her  tender  little  ministries  would  reach. 

"Wise  as  a  woman's,  were  her  winsome  words. 

So  young  in  years !     So  swift  to  understand ! 
Most  comforting  her  voice,  clear  as  a  bird's, 

The  soft  caressing  of  the  dimpled  hand." 

"Where  is  she,  auntie?     Is  she  living,  now?" 

"  My  darling,  yes — a  maiden  blithe  and  fair; 

An  ardent  student,  with  a  thoughtful  brow, 

A  dear  and  choice  companion  everywhere. 

"  But  never  think,  because  your  years  are  few, 
You  cannot  be  a  real  delight  and  joy , 

A  loving  little  helper,  leal  and  true ; 

A  faithful  worker  in  a  blest  employ." 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  27 


KITTY  PENDLETON. 


©OWN  where  the  sun-tipt  water  comes  up  to  kiss 
the  shore, 
Crowned  with  a  regal  glory  no  proud  king  ever 

wore, 

I  have  found  a  tricksy  fairy,  merry,  but  winsome,  too, 
Her  face  as  bright  as  the  morning,  and  eyes  of 
summer's  blue. 

Kitty  alone  in  the  parlor — (soft !  this  way,  if  you 

please.) 
A  quick  glance  shot  through  the  brown  curls, 

Nobody  hears  or  sees! 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  the  ashes  burrow  plump  little 

hands, 

Laughter  low — just  hear  it ! — like  gurgle  of 
brook  on  the  sands. 

All  over  shining  ringlets  settles  the  gray-white  shower. 
What  has  become  of  Kitty,  left  as  fair  as  a 

flower  ? 
Where  are  the  dimpled  shoulders — where  is  the  rosy 

mouth  ? 

And  who  is  this  dusk-hued  Topsy,  fresh  from 
the  sunny  South  ? 


28  POEMS  FROM  TARE. 

And  now,  demure  as  a  matron,  she  rocks  and  soothes 

to  its  rest 
Her  wee  little  worshipped  kitten,  held  close  to 

her  loving  breast, 
Wrapped  in  a  snowy  napkin,  (I  watched  through  the 

open  door) 

Borrowed  by  dainty  fingers  from  mamma's  choic 
est  store. 

Then  a  gush  of  bird-like  music,  tender,  and  sweet 

and  clear, 
As  she  sings  to  her  little  nursling,  "  Hush  i 

dear  ;  hush  i  dear  !  " 
So  pretty  to  see  and  hear  her,  our  bright-eyed,  glad 

little  fay ! 

God  keep  the  joy  on  her  forehead,  for  many  an 
unborn  day. 

But  dancing  feet  are  quiet  as  the  shadows  fall  on 

the  sea. 
And  the  low  voice,  when  "  Our  Father !  "  is 

lisped  at  the  mother's  knee, 

Murmurs,  while  hasting  slumber  comes  to  the  baby- 
brain, 

"  I  happy  to  see  you,  mamma ;  good  night,  call 
as  a  in." 


POMES  FROM  YAEE.  29 

KITTY'S  MISSION. 


7]  little  maid,  whose  summers  counted  three, 

Came  from  a  joyous  visit  to  an  aunt ; 
Home  greetings  over,  on  she  danced  with  glee, 
To  seek  each  dear,  familiar,  baby-haunt, 
While  two  fond  ladies  talked  of  her  and  smiled, 
Watching  the  graceful  pastime  of  the  child. 

"  Edith,"  said  Auntie  Kate,  "you  must  not  paint 
Too  proud  a  future  for  your  darling  there ; 

Truly  you  have  small  cause  to  make  complaint, 
She  is  so  winsome  and  so  very  fair  ; 

But  she  is  slow  to  learn ;  she  will  not  be 

A  scholar,  sister,  yet,  it  seems  to  me, 

She  is  the  sweetest,  gladdest  little  one 

I  ever  knew ;  each  hour  and  every  day, 

She  warmed  and  cheered  us  like  a  tiny  sun, 
Patient,  obedient,  loving,  helpful,  gay, 

Her  work  must  be,  with  such  a  heart  and  face, 

To  make  the  world  a  brighter,  better  place." 

Aunt  Kate  was  right,  in  part,  and  partly  wrong, 
Last  year  I  saw  that  radiant  little  child 

Fresh  from  class-honors,  and,  in  all  the  throng 

Of  sweet  girl-graduates,  none  fairer  smiled ; 

Yet,  'mid  her  triumphs,  love  ruled  ever  more, 

And  Kitty  shone  a  sunbeam,  as  of  yore. 


30  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 


CAROLYN. 


T  sit  beside  my  western  window,  where 
-*-     The  gold  of  sunset  gleams 
And  try  to  picture  in  the  landscape  fair, 
The  real  and  that  which  seems. 

Adown  the  street,  by  Casco's  flashing  tide, 

I  see  a  child  at  play ; 
A  lovely  child,  who,  yonder,  stands  a  bride, 

In  stately  grace  to  day. 

Which  is  the  dearer,  which  the  fairer,  I 

Can  surely  never  tell ; 
But  this  I  know,  the  same  sweet  virtues  high 

In  child  and  woman  dwell. 

Some  lives  there  are,  which,  starting  free  and 
strong, 

In  dawn's  soft  splendor  warm, 
Run  their  glad  race  until  the  twilight  long, 

Untouched  by  cold,  or  storm. 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  31 

God  grant  such  gracious  gift  to  her  we  love, 

If  we  may  dare  to  plead, 
Aud  fill  her  life  with  fullness  from  above, 

Supplying  hourly  need, 

Wisdom  and  strength  for  each  new  duty  high 

And  patient  love  through  all 
And  tenderness  for  souls  joy  has  passed  by 

And  ruth  for  suffering's  call. 

A  joyous  childhood  and  a  youth  content, 

Safe  shielded  from  all  wrong ; 
And  now  the  crowning  grace  to  life  is  lent, 

The  sweetness  to  earth's  song. 


32  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


THE  OLD  CHURCH  UNDER  THE  LEDGE. 


This  church,  the  first  one  built  in  Yarmouth,  then  North  Yarmouth,  Me., 
was  erected  in  1729  and  its  needless  destruction  about  1835  sent  a  thrill  of 
indignation  through  the  town  that  has  not  ceased  to  vibrate  yet.  Built  strongly 
of  white  oak  and  occupying  a  lonely,  but  lovely  spot,  not  required  for  any  othe1" 
purpose,  it  might  and  should  have  stood  till  this  time,  a  quaint  and  revered 
relic  of  the  past.  The  author  of  "Hester;  The  Bride  of  the  Islands,"  makes 
this  old  church  the  scene  of  the  hurried  nuptials  and  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Oakes 
Smith  pays  it  a  graceful  tribute  in  her  story  of  "The  Defeated  Life." 


by  the  restful  Casco,  the  children  find  their 
*&       friend. 

Kind  is  the  stern-browed  giant,  faithful  to  ward  and 
defend  : 

Generous,  too,  with  his  bounty,  legends  of  days  long 

fled, 
Round  and  round  with  the  seasons,  keeping  watch 

over  the  dead. 

Passionate  Spring-time  loves  him,  and  brings  with 

their  rare  perfume, 
Garlands  of  sweet  May-blossoms,  aglow  with  their 

dainty  bloom. 

And  the  maidens  seize  their  baskets,  and  follow  with 

footsteps  fleet, 
To  gather   the    fragrant  treasures,  till   weary   their 

dancing  feet. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  33 

Then  they  toss  into  odorous  masses,  the  spoils  they 

have  won  away 
From  the  brows  of    their   patient   comrade,  till  he 

hushes  their  gleesome  play, 

And  they  sit  on  his  lap  and  listen,  to  his  stories  of 

Long  Ago, 
While  their  young  hearts  burn  within  them,  and  their 

bright  eyes  overflow, 

And  they  see  with  their  eager  vision,  through  mists 
of  time  and  of  tears, 

Slowly  rising  beneath  them,  the  church  of  a  hun 
dred  years ! 

It  stands  on  the  level  below  them,  no  marvel  of  fret 
work  and  frieze, 

No  wealth  of  cushions  and  carpets — graces  of  days 
like  these. 

No  chastened   light  from  its  windows,  painted  with 

rainbow  dyes, 
But  floods  of  the  golden  sunshine,  straight  from  the 

vernal  skies. 

Stanch  as  the  souls  that  reared  it,  it  looks  out  over 

the  bay, 
Silently  holding   its    treasures — tales   of    an   elder 

day — 


34  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

Memories  pure  and  precious,  kept  in  its  watch  and 

ward, 
Of  the  men,  asleep  by  the   waters,  who  loved  the 

house  of  the  Lord. 

Men  it  is  well  to  forget   not,  reverent,  brave   and 

strong, 
Worthy  the  sires  they  sprang  from,  honored  in  story 

and  song. 

Alden,  and   Standish,  and    Brewster,  prouder  their 

names  to-day, 
Than  title  of  throned  usurper,  wrested  from  ruthless 

fray. 

Awed  are  the  worshipping   people,  grave   with  the 

danger  near, 
Lurking  ever  around  them,  and  the  homes  they  have 

toiled  to  rear. 

To  the  Gospel  of  Peace  they  listen,  with  bated  and 

reverent  breath, 
Ready  to  send  at  a  warning,  the  terrible  message  of 

death. 

But  a  fairer  davn  is  breaking,  when,  fearless  of  sav 

age  blade, 
Restful  at  heart  and  happy,  they  come  from  island 

and  g)ade, 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  35 

The  matron  upon  her  pillion,  gay  clusters  of  maidens 

young, 
And  many  a  "Little  Barefoot,"  his   shoes  o'er  his 

shoulders  flung. 

Softly  they  steal  to  their  places,  (the  child  with  his 

wondering  air,) 

Bringing   their   grateful  tribute — incense  of   praise 

and  prayer. 


Vanished  the  old-time  vision !  leaving  but  earth  and 

sky, 
And  the  young  hearts  thrilled  with  their  dreaming, 

with  a  pang,  as  of  one,  they  cry : — 

"The  dear  old  church  of  our  fathers  !  alas,  for  man's 

folly  and  greed  ! 
For  the  hands  that  were  lifted  against  it,  oh,  the  pity 

and  shame  of  the  deed  ! 

The  dear  old  church  of  our  fathers  !     Firm  it  should 

stand  to-day, 
Telling  its  quaint  old  story,  to  the  wee  ones  tired  of 

play, 

Teaching  its  sacred  lessons,  from  pulpit  and  sound 
board  and  wall, 

Of  the  faith  and  trust  of  the  Christian,  and  the  God 
who  is  over  all." 


36  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

TO  M.  D.  W. 


f~\  friend  of  treasured  days  ! 

V^     If  I  could  trace  in  words  the  wondrous 

scene, 

That  charmed  our  sight  on  Royall's  banks  of  green- 
Twilight's  rare  gift  of  praise — 

If  I  could  only  paint — oh,  vain  ! — 
The  rosy  splendor  of  the  sunset  sky, 
That  bent  its  bright  face,  where  the  waters  lie, 

'Till  the  stream  blushed  again ; 

Then  I  might  hope,  dear  heart ! 
To  find  fit  phrase  to  syllable  for  you 
The  warm  regard,  the  admiration  true 

Of  life  become  a  part ; 

And  in  love's  glowing  speech, 
To  breathe  the  Prayer  that  all  your  heart's  des  r 
All  good,  to  which  the  true  soul  may  aspire, 

Be  brought  within  your  reach  ; 

That  all  the  generous  care 
You  grant  to  other  lives,  return  fourfold 
In  pure  affection's  wealth,  of  price  untold, 

To  make  life  blest  and  fair. 

And  every  volume  wise, 
That  adds  to  your  rejoicing,  day  by  day  ; 
And  every  tender  bud  its  tribute  pay, 

That  greets  your  smiling  eyes. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  37 

FOR  "BROWNIE'S"  ALBUM. 


7"WT  Y  little  friend,  how  can  you  bring  me  here, 
AJN   *•     Into  the  presence  of  the  Poet  grand — 
Whose  stately  name  is  honored  far  and  near — * 

And  then  ask  tribute  from  my  helpless  hand ! 

Dear  little  Brownie,  I  would  gladly  trace 

A  shining  path  for  you  o'er  Life's  great  sea : 
Lift  ev'ry  shadow  from  your  sunny  face, 

And  pray  your  fairest  hopes  might  blossom 

free. 
But  One,  who  walks  beside  you,  loves  you  more 

And  in  his  own  good  time  and  perfect  way, 
Whatever  good  He  takes,  He  will  restore, 

And  change  the  dark'ning  night  to  dawning 

day. 
Courage !    Press  on !    Use  well  your  graceful  dower, 

The  ready  brain,  the  skillful  little  hand, 
The  wealth  of  Fancy  and  the  wondrous  power 

All  loving,  loyal  natures  e'er  command. 

Sunshine  is  sweet,  but  storm  we  need,  as  well ; 

We  cannot  build  the  soul's  fair  mansion  strong 
In  joy  alone ;  but  pain  and  sorrow  tell 

A  deeper  story ;  sing  a  sweeter  song. 


38  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 


A  GIFT  OF  POEMS. 


Friend,  the  world  seemed  sad  and  desolate 
-"^     '  Mid  dark  December's  chill, 
Wanting  the  light  and  warmth  that  emanate 
From  joy  and  hope,  and  fill 

The  barren  life  with  bloom  and  fragrance  sweet, 

Though  days  be  cold  and  drear, 
And  ring  glad  music-bells  to  time  the  feet 

Of  the  departing  year. 

Alone  one  moment ;  but  the  next  I  stood 

Amid  a  singing  band, 
The  worshipped  ones,  the  gifted,  graceful,  good, 

Beloved  on  sea  and  land. 

O  wondrous  condescension,  that  the  great, 

Who,  crowned,  stand  apart, 
In  genius'  shining  raiment  consecrate, 

Yet  love  the  reverent  heart, 

And  when  the  shadows  gather,  softly  dim, 

Come  with  immortal  song 
And  weave  their  spells,  till  eyes  are  all  abrim 

With  memories  buried  long. 


POMES  FROM  YAEE.  39 

Tis  good  to  banish  for  a  little  space 

Life's  bitter  loss  and  pain, 
And  gather  round  us  all  the  olden  grace 
That  may  not  come  again. 

My  poet-guests  sang  low,  in  measures  sweet, 

The  dear,  familiar  lays, 
While  my  heart  answered  with  its  rythmic  beat, 

And  poured  its  eager  praise. 

Once  more  within  the  farmer's  snow-bound  home, 

I  feel  the  ruddy  glow, 
And  share  the  heartsome  comfort  of  a  room 

Quaint  with  the  Long-ago. 

The  laughing  jest  I  hear,  the  merry  speech, 

The  wise  and  tender  tone, 
The  strange  old  tales  that  into  marvels  reach, 

The  voice  a  world  shall  own. 

What  deep,  proud  joy  would  fill  each  noble  soul, 

Could  the  grand  future's  page 
Unroll  before  them,  like  a  brilliant  scroll, 

Its  glorious  heritage  ! 

But  now  the  Laureate  sings  his  silver  strain, 

And  many  a  stirring  note, 
And  many  a  wild  and  glad  and  clear  refrain 

Over  the  waters  float. 


40  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

The  genial  Hood,  who,  oft,  with  quaint  conceit, 

Moves  us  to  gay  surprise, 
Breathes  out  the  minor  music,  rarely  sweet, 

Of  his  sad  "Bridge  of  Sighs." 

"Mother  and  Poet  /"     Shall  we  e'er  forget 
How  the  sharp,  anguished  cry 

Rang  in  our  ears  ?     Our  eyes  were  newly  wet ; 
Our  heroes  gone  to  die. 

But  the  home  bards  are  dear  beyond  compare, 

And  sweet  will  ever  be 
The  liquid  song,  that  sings  the  city  fair, 

That  sits  beside  the  sea. 


POEMS  FROM  TARE.  41 


LEILA. 


C^o  many  paths  lie  open  to  your  feet, 
>-^       Which  will  you  tread  ? 
Which  task  pursue,  till  life's  work  be  complete ; 
Life's  lesson  said  ? 

Will  you,  with  deft  hand,  mould  the  "plastic  clay" 

To  beauty's  form ; 
Create,  with  magic  touches,  day  by  day, 

A  spirit  warm  ? 

Or,  will  those  skillful  fingers,  bye  and  bye, 

The  rare  art  know 
To  paint  the  tints,  that  flush  the  earth  and  sky 

With  radiant  glow  ? 

Will  you,  instead,  store  up  the  gold  of  life, 

To  spend  again 
In  thought  made  strong  by  the  soul's  toil  and  strife, 

Its  joy  and  pain  ? 

Dear  child  of  graceful  gifts,  choose  well  your  way, 

And  make  it  bright 
WTith  pure  and  high  endeavor,  till  life's  day 

Brings  rest  and  night. 


42  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


BY  THE  FIRE. 


in  the  darkness  there  twinkles  a  light 
-"©/  Jessie  is  choosing  our  apples  to-night ; 
Great  ruby  red  ones  and  golden  and  green, 
Ripest  and  sweetest  that  ever  was  seen. 

Grandmamma  sits  in  her  snowy  white  cap, 
Smiling  and  smiling  her  work  on  her  lap, 

Looking  so  dreamy,  she's  thinking,  I  know, 

Of  happy  times  vanished,  oh,  long,  long  ago. 

How  the  wind  whistles  !     What  care  we  for  that  ? 

Windows  may  shake  and  blinds  go  rat-a-tat ; 
While  we  are  nestled  all  cosy  and  warm, 

Close  by  the  fire,  we  can  laugh  at  the  storm. 

Only,  don't  close  all  the  shutters  to-night ; 

Some  weary  man  may  be  cheered  by  our  light ; 
Some  little  child  may  come  in  and  be  warm, 

Safe  from  the  bitter  wind,  safe  from  the  storm. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  43 


FAILURE. 


I  sit  in  the  hush  of  the  autumn  eves, 
The  only  season  I  call  my  own, 
Free  from  the  tyrant  of  pain,  who  leaves 
The  still  night  hours  alone. 

Not  as  I  sat  in  that  earlier  time 

— A  wee,  odd  child,  I  remember  yet — 

When  the  wind  rose  high  in  its  fitful  rhyme, 
Or  the  pane  with  sleet  was  wet. 

Hasting  away  from  the  cheerful  board ; 

From  the  lights  and  the  pleasant  human  speech  ; 
For  the  joy  a  silent  space  could  afford, 

For  the  bliss  a  dream  could  reach. 

A  dream  not  of  childhood's  dear  delights, 

Of  toys  and  sweetmeats  and  endless  play; 

A  glimpse  of  the  elf  world's  wondrous  sights, 
That  come  at  the  parting  day. 

But  a  vision  of  boundless  wealth  and  power, 
Gold  that  my  eager  hands  should  use 

To  comfort  the  needy,  who,  hour  by  hour, 
Brought  the  plea  I  would  ne'er  refuse. 


44  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

None  should  suffer  that  I  could  aid ; 

None  be  sad  I  could  soothe,  or  cheer ; 
Faltering  steps  should  be  kindly  stayed, 

And  faint  hearts  won  from  fear. 

But  more  than  gold  I  must  have  one  day, 

Wisdom  and  knowledge  to  help  my  kind ; 

Food  and  raiment  were  well,  but  they 
Suffice  not  the  longing  mind. 

So  I  would  be  wise  and,  with  eloquent  speech, 

Uplift  the  weary  to  heights  afar  ; 
Winning  all  treasure  within  my  reach, 

Learning  from  flower  and  star. 

Ah  !  days  have  vanished  and  years  gone  by, 

But  where  are  the  lives  I  have  blest  and  filled, 

And  where  are  the  hearts,  with  warm  hopes  high, 
Whose  sorrows  my  hand  has  stilled  ? 

Alas  for  the  noble  deeds  unwrought ! 

For  the  kind  words  breath'd  to  no  list'ning  ear 
Alas,  for  the  high  dreams  come  to  naught, 

Ere  the  autumn  of  life  drew  near  ! 

Oh !  well  for  the  hopes  that  are  thwarted  below, 
And  well  for  earth's  children  who  falter  with 
pain  ; 

The  pathway  our  hesitant  footsteps  would  know, 
May  open  in  Heaven  again. 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  45 


IN  THE  SHADOW. 


VI /HE  summer's  fervid  heat  and  glow  are  past, 
And  coming  near  are  the  cool,  restful  days ; 

To  me  they  bring  no  benison,  nor  cast 

Their  bounty  on  a  life  attuned  to  praise. 

Yet  their  sweet  advent  brings  afresh  to  mind 
How  my  lost  darling  ever  sought  my  side, 

When,  the  day's  heat  and  hurry  left  behind, 
No  care  could  rob  us  of  our  eventide. 

In  shadowed  ways  my  feet  had  learned  to  walk, 
Sorrow  and  Disappointment  loved  me  well, 

So  well  they  would  not  leave  me,  and  their  talk 
On  my  tired  sense  in  lamentation  fell. 

But  through  their  dirges  stole  a  blithesome  strain, 
And  happy  speech  charmed  and  caressed  my  ear ; 

The  tender  shining  that  comes  after  rain 

Brought  to  my  burdened  heart  content  and  cheer. 

A  little  form  always  beside  my  own, 

A  loving  hand  soft  stealing  into  mine. 

How  quickly  thought  on  the  white  forehead  shone ! 
How  flashed  the  baby  wit  unique  and  fine ! 


46  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

My  little  daughter ;  close  companion ;  friend ! 

I  can  but  linger  over  days  so  sweet ; 
How  rare  a  recompense  did  Heaven  send 

For  the  strange  grief  it  was  my  lot  to  meet ! 

What  joy  to  me  to  watch  the  unfolding  mind, 
To  learn  how  rich  the  treasure  in  my  care ! 

For  her  dear  sake  the  past  was  left  behind, 

And  Hope  lived  newly  in  her  promise  fair. 

Now  in  my  study  at  the  set  of  sun, 

I  wait  for  the  bright  face  that  comes  no  more, 
That  cannot  come  to  me  till  life  is  done 

And  I,  at  last,  reach,  safe,  the  shining  shore. 

Instinctively  I  lay  my  books  aside 

To  share  their  choicest  wealth  with  her  clear 

mind; 
O  Death !  hast  thou  the  power  that  can  divide 

Two  souls  whom  life  has  had  such  strength  to 
bind? 


POEMS  FROM  TARE.  47 

i 

BABY'S  PICTURE. 


rT7HE  night  is  as  fair  as  night  can  be, 
Rare  tint  of  the  sapphire's  blue ; 

And,  over  the  glory,  lace-like  folds, 

That  the  azure  Heavens  shine  through. 

Was  it  born  of  this  beauty  of  sky  and  cloud, 

The  dear,  little  face  I  see; 
With  its  dark  eyes  looking  out  of  a  world 

That  is  white  with  its  purity? 

O !  beautiful  child,  with  your  earnest  eyes 
And  your  thoughtful  brow  so  fair; 

Do  you  come  to  brighten  a  little  space 
Of  this  dark  earth  full  of  care? 

I  am  tired  and  worn  with  the  weary  way, 

That  is  fresh  to  the  tiny  feet; 
But  my  heart  grows  glad  with  a  sudden  joy, 

At  sight  of  this  vision  sweet. 

So  near  to  God  and  so  near  to  Heaven 

Is  the  little  life  begun; 
And  so  pure  is  the  loving  heart  that  holds 

Praise  for  the  gift  of  a  son ! 

A  heart  that  is  stirred  by  a  tender  pain 
For  the  possible  toil  and  strife, 

That  wait  for  the  steps  of  the  man  to  be, 
In  this  hurrying,  struggling  life. 


48  POEMS  FEOM  YAEE. 

For  the  mother  deems  that  a  rougher  road 
Leads  up  from  this  life  below, 

For  the  little  lads  in  their  journey  through, 
Than  our  little  maidens  know. 

Dear  heart !     If,  ever,  a  woman's  lot 

Were  sheltered,  like  yours,  and  sweet ; 

If  want,  and  sorrow,  and  peril  dire 
Fled  fast  from  her  charmed  feet ; 

If  only  life's  easy,  pleasant  tasks 
Were  set  for  here  hands  to  do, 

And  wearisome  toil  and  lonely  years 
Were  fate  of  the  hapless  few ; 

Then,  well  might  a  mother  shrink  with  dread 
From  the  burdens  her  son  must  bear; 

For  rough,  indeed,  is  the  way  of  life, 
And  heavy  its  weight  of  care. 

Dear  friend,  be  glad  for  this  precious  child, 
For  the  good  he  will  surely  share. 

And  rejoice  that  a  burden  of  loss  and  pain 
A  merciful  fate  will  spare. 

God  guide  and  strengthen  the  tender  feet, 
And  hold  by  the  clinging  hand, 

And  lead  your  darling  up  to  the  heights 
Of  a  goodly,  pleasant  land  ! 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  49 


MY  CHRISTMAS  CUP. 


7VT  Y  coffee  has  a  flavor  rare, 
(Q   f-  Now  Christmas-tide  is  overpast ; 
I  give  to  it  no  added  care, 

That  its  aroma  long  should  last ; 
Yet  every  morning,  as  I  lift 

Your  pretty  token  to  my  lips, 
I  gather  from  the  graceful  gift 

A  sweeter  draught  than  hum-bird  sips. 

In  the  clear  depths  of  amber  hue 

Two  laughing  eyes  my  glances  meet; 
A  fresh,  young  face  as  fair  to  view, 

And,  as  your  English  daisies  sweet 
A  blithesome  voice  I  seem  to  hear 

In  cordial  speech  and  kindly  tone, 
And  echoes  gay  are  dancing  near, 

Though  I  am  sitting  all  alone. 

Dear,  generous,  true-hearted  friend, 

As,  thus,  I  drink  my  portion  up, 
I  pray  a  loving  Hand  may  send 

All  good  to  mingle  in  your  cup. 
Of  things  that  make  life  sweet  to  live, 

Noble  and  pure  as  it  is  fair, 
May  He,  who  hath  all  fulness,  give 

To  you  and  yours  unfailing  share. 


so  POEMS  FROM:  YARE. 


THE  THOUGHTS  OF  LITTLE  MAY. 


~T\  fair  young  mother  had  dropped  earth's  care, 
•'•*•    And  lay  in  the  midst  of  summer's  bloom, 
Her  love-lit  face  and  her  shining  hair, 

Too  rare  a  spoil  for  the  dreary  tomb. 

Then  back,  to  the  stricken  home,  they  brought 
A  dear  little  nestling,  turned  of  four, 

Whose  soft,  dark  eyes  their  shade  had  caught 

From  eyes  whose  light  they  would  greet  no 
more. 

The  tears  fell  fast;  then  the  sad  voice  said, 

As  the  slight  form  leaned  on  the  lady's  knee, 

"Auntie !  they  told  to  me — mamma  is  dead, 

Mamma  who  loved  little  Fannie  and  me." 

"Yes,  dear,  she  is  dead."     "But,  auntie,  tell, 
Where  is  my  mother?     I  want  to  see." 

"  Her  happy  spirit  has  gone  to  dwell 

With  Jesus,  who  said  to  her,  'Come  to  me ! ' 

"  Her  beautiful  body  lies,  at  rest, 

In  the  room  where  the  goldfinch  used  to  sing, 
And  the  snow-white  lilies  above  her  breast, 

Are  pure  and  sweet  as  the  breath  of  spring, 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  51 

"  But  the  part  that  loved  little  May  so  dear, 
And  baby  Fannie,  has  gone,  my  child, 

To  God's  bright  Heaven,  where  pain  nor  fear, 
Can  reach  the  home  of  the  undefiled." 

"  You  said  that  the  lilies  were  on  her  breast, 
And,  now,  Aunt  Miriam,  tell  me  true, 

Her  head  and  feet — are  they  there,  with  the  rest, 
And  her  dear,  soft  hands  ?     Oh,  I  wish  I 
knew  ! " 

'  Come  and  see  !  "     And  the  small  feet  softly  trod 
The  way  to  the  room  where  the  cold  form  lay. 

"  Oh,  only  a  little  has  gone  to  God ! 

Auntie,  dear  auntie,  my  mamma  will  stay  !  " 

"  Darling  !  no.     That  little  is  more, 

Far,  far  more  than  the  clay  which  lies 

Pale  and  still,  while  the  soul  will  soar 

To  joy  and  rest  in  the  upper  skies. 

"She  is  not  here,  and  this  form  she  wore, 

We  shall  lay  beneath  the  'flowery  sod.'  " — 

"  But  if  part  of  my  mother  went  before 

I  must  get  the  rest  of  her  up  to  God !  " 

"  It  may  not  be.     Do  not  weep,  dear  one  !  " 

But  the  tide  of  sorrow  ran  high  and  strong. 

A  part  to  dwell  in  the  joy  of  the  Son, 

And  part  shut  out  from  the  blessed  throng ! 


52  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

'  Twas  a  bitter  truth  for  the  child  to  know, 

And  hard  she  found  it,  to  "kiss  the  rod." 

Over  and  over  she  murmured,  low, 

"  I  must  get  my  mamma  up  to  God  !  " 

"We  must  be  patient,  my  little  May, 

For,  in  God's  own  time,  the  forms  we  love, 
He  will  call  from  earth,  and,  in  fair  array, 

Made  pure  and  bright,  they  shall  live  above." 

The  swe:t  face  cleared,  and  the  childish  speech 

Rose  free  and  glad  from  the  conquered  pain, 

And  she  talks  of  the  time,  in  her  thought's  far  reach 
"  When  God  shall  make  mamma  over  again.' 


POEMS  FROM  TARE.  53 


HER  BIRTHDAY. 


(T^H  !  to  sit  in  the  dark  of  December, 
V^     And  wait  for  the  fall  of  her  feet, 

(£> 

Until,  suddenly,  I  remember 

That  the  smile,  be  it  ever  so  sweet, 

That  passed  in  the  glow  of  September, 
I  never,  on  earth,  shall  meet. 

But  to-day,  of  all  days  in  the  ending 
Of  the  bitter  yet  sweet  old  year, 

My  fancy  is  eagerly  sending 
Messages  far  and  near, 

The  past  with  the  present  blending, 
Till  I  dream  at  length  she  is  here, — 

Here,  with  her  arms  around  me, 
Loving,  and  warm  and  white, 

The  silvery  fetters  that  bound  me 
Fast  in  a  world  of  delight. 

Ah,  me,  that  five  birthdays  have  found  me 
Wanting  the  vision  bright. 


54  POEMS  FEOM  YARE. 

No  ringing  of  happy  laughter  ; 

No  quick  little  steps  on  the  floor  ; 
No  tapping  that  follows  after, 

Low  down  on  my  chamber  door, 
Till  the  welcome  the  night  winds  waft  her, 

Shall  bring  her  to  me  once  more. 

So  long  'mid  the  sacred  pleasure 

Of  angels  and  sinless  men, 
Could  I  clasp  her  again — my  treasure — 

Would  her  fair  face  be  out  of  my  ken  ? 
Or,  by  heavenly,  as  earthly  measure, 

Would  her  five  years  be  grown  into  ten  ? 

Well  I  know,  did  she  stand  beside  me, 

Tho'  she  came  from  the  bliss  of  the  skies, 

I  should  see,  half  ready  to  chide  me 
For  my  sorrow,  those  radiant  eyes, 

Whose  beauty  forever  defied  me 
To  gaze  and  not  thrill  with  surprise. 

And  if  from  the  holy  splendor, 
She  could  step  over  mortal  line, 

And  slip,  with  its  gesture  tender, 
Her  small,  soft  hand  into  mine, 

The  clasp  of  her  fingers  slender 

Would  give  to  me  strength  like  wine. 


POMES  FROM  TARE.  55 

Oh,  my  fair  little  friend,  whose  graces 
Were  a  marvel  and  bliss  to  my  heart, 

I  must  joy,  that  'mid  love-lighted  faces, 
Safe  shielded  from  evil  thou  art ; 

That  thy  birthdays  in  heavenly  places, 
In  the  rapture  of  angels  have  part. 

Yet  I  miss,  when  the  lamp-light  is  glowing, 

A  dear  little  form  from  my  side, 
And  the  glad,  happy  speech  ever  flowing 

On  the  ear  like  a  musical  tide. 
My  flow'ret  in  heaven  is  blowing, 

But  on  earth  it  has  blossomed  and  died. 


56  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


FOR  ANNA  B.   N- 


MID  the  tempest — 'mid  the  gloom, 

That  stirs  our  lives,  that  shrouds  our  way, 
Let  us  within  our  souls  find  room 

For  joy  that  brightens  as  the  day. 
For  happy  thoughts,  for  gentle  deeds, 

That  gild  the  lives  of  old  and  young, 
Till  radiant  dawn  to  night  succeeds; 

Or,  as  the  Concord  sage  hath  sung 
In  guise  of  prose  to  reverent  friends, 

Writing  as  only  one  can  write, 
Till  every  sound  in  music  ends, 

And  all  things  glow  with  lovely  light. 


POEMS  FEOM  YAEE.  57 


APPEAL. 


7]    little  shining  curl  of  soft,  brown  hair, 
tt/Ji     The  rustle  of  a  loving,  long-writ  page, 
The  faint,  sad  sweetness  of  a  bud  once  fair, 
Bring  back  our  Golden  Age. 

Do  you  recall  that  sunny  autumn  time? 

Were  ever  'melancholy  days'  so  passing  sweet? 
Nature  forgot  the  harshness  of  our  clime, 
And  walked  with  gentle  feet. 

She  grudged  no  gift;  she  glorified  our  ways, 

Beauty  and  balm  and  happy  human  hearts — 
She  sent  her  warm  breath  thro'  November  days, 
Sheathing  all  cruel  darts. 

And  when  the  day  died  in  the  arms  of  night, 

Its  soul  sprang  up  in  flame  upon  our  hearth  ; 
The  world  shut  out,  with  gay  conceit  and  light, 
We  gave  the  hour  to  mirth. 

Later,  when  all  the  laughing  echoes  slept, 

And  the  old  room  grew  strangely  hushed  and 

still, 
Around  the  fire  a  charmed  watch  we  kept, 

And  let  thought  roam  at  will. 


58  POEMS  FROM  YABE. 

With  what  rare  cheer  one  came  and  blessed  us  then  ! 

Would  you  forget  a  single  golden  tone  ? 
Proudly  we  deemed  him  peer  of  noblest  men, 
His  life  not  ours  alone. 

And  looking  forward  saw  a  future  fair, 

In  lightning  flashes,  while  with  ear  attent, 
We  glowed  beneath  his  words,  as  unaware, 
He  grew  so  eloquent. 

It  was  too  much,  I  knew  it  could  not  last, 

You  only  smiled,  I  said  it  once  again, 
But  we  were  glad  and  thought  our  happy  past 
Was  worth  all  future  pain. 

Ah,  me,  I  do  not  know !     I  read,  once  more, 

The  brave  and  tender  words  last  penned  for 

me, 
In  drear  discomfort,  on  Potomac's  shore, 

And  I  am  brave  as  he. 

But,  living  over  all  our  saddened  years, 

That  lay  so  smiling  to  our  untaught  eyes, 
I  am  a  coward,  and  with  pain  and  tears, 
Bewail  our  sacrifice. 

This  silence,  that  has  grown  between  us  two, 

Is  hard  to  bear.     Shall  it  not  have  an  end? 
Nor  time,  nor  tongue  can  turn  my  heart  from  you, 
I  am  a  loyal  friend. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  59 


DEPARTURE. 


7]  N  earnest  life  has  ended  upon  earth ; 
fol     A  strong,  sweet  spirit  winged  its  way  to  rest; 
We  talk  of  death,  we  mean  a  nobler  birth : 
No  doom  mysterious,  but  a  lot  most  blest. 

Yet,  with  dim  eyes,  that  cannot  see,  for  tears, 
The  tender  hand  of  Him,  who  gently  led 

Our  friend  belove'd  through  her  saddened  years, 
We  look  around  us,  seeking  what  is  fled. 

Her  pain  is  over,  ours  but  just  begun ; 

Our  loss  seems  now  to  us,  too  sharp  to  bear ; 
She  will  not  miss  us,  she,  who  was  our  sun, 

Who  warmed  and  gladdened  us  with  royal  care; 

But  we  are  poor  and  desolate  and  cold 

Without  the  rare  companionship  she  gave ; 

How  shone  the  hours  with  her  fine  thought's  pure 

gold! 
How  yearned  our  hearts  to  catch  her  spirit  brave! 

Not  only  to  our  gaze,  who  loved  her  so, 

Was  it  delight  to  note  the  graceful  mien, 

The  dark  eyes'  brilliance,  the  pale  cheek's  faint  glow, 
Of  her  we  called,  in  happy  days,  "Our  Queen;" 


60  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

But  friend  and  stranger  felt,  alike,  the  charm 
Of  her  rare  manner  and  her  lovely  looks. 

Said  one,  at  loss  to  paint  her  grace  and  calm, 
"A  woman  she,  such  as  we  find  in  books !" 

Yet  not  in  beauty's  fascinating  spell ; 

Or,  in  the  costlier  gift  of  mental  dower, 
Though  their  united  strength  we  knew  so  well, 

Lay  the  sweet  secret  of  her  gentle  power. 

But  the  warm  heart  that  spent  its  precious  store 
With  lavish  bounty  for  the  impov'rished  soul ; 

The  sunny  fortitude  with  which  she  bore 

The  wreck  of  fairest  hopes ;  the  wise  control 

Of  ardent  natures  guided  by  her  hand  ; 

Her  eager  pressing  on  to  heights  above ; 
Her  scorn  of  wrong — these  are  they,  that  command 

Our  truest  admiration  and  our  love. 

O  matchless  friend,  whose  life  enriched  my  own  ; 

Whose  presence  filled  and  satisfied  my  days ; 
Could  I  but  voice,  for  thee,  in  sweeter  tone, 

The  heart-felt  tribute  of  thy  fitting  praise ! 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  61 


A  LITTLE  COMFORTER. 


VI /HE  year  was  young,  and  the  year  is  old, 

But  my  heart  is  full  of  its  olden  pain. 
The  fairest  flowers  their  sweets  unfold, 
The  winter's  sheen,  and  the  autumn's  gold, 
Bring  me  their  treasures  in  vain. 

I  miss  them  so,  with  their  clear,  soft  eyes, 

And  the  twining  clasp  of  their  dimpled  arms, 
Their  prattling  speech,  so  strangely  wise, 
Their  faces,  bright  with  some  glad  surprise, 
And  all  their  childish  charms  ! 

The  year  is  old,  but  the  year  is  gay, 

And  the  cheer  and  the  child-joy  everywhere, 
Bring  back  the  time,  when  the  festal  day 
Filled  three  little  hearts,  with  its  brave  array, 

As  full  as  they  well  could  bear. 

I  saw,  to-day,  on  a  city  street, 

Apart  from  the  hurrying,  surging  throng, 
A  wee  child,  poised  on  her  dainty  feet, 
Her  gold  curls  tost,  but  her  voice  as  sweet 

As  the  words  of  her  little  song. 


62  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

I  paused  to  toy  with  the  golden  head, 

"I  sometimes  dance,"  she  nodded  and  smiled. 
"And  whose  little  girl  is  this  ? "  I  said. 
"I'm  God's  little  happy  Winifred!" 

Answered  the  pretty  child. 

As  I  sit,  to  night,  in  my  room  alone, 

And  only  my  books  and  pen  for  cheer, 

The  joyous  words,  with  their  ringing  tone, 

As  if  to  conquer  the  rising  moan, 
Come  back  to  my  listening  ear. 

The  small  hand  slips  into  mine,  once  more, 

And  the  face  is  fair,  though  there  may  not  be 
The  thoughtful  look  that  my  darlings  wore — 
Ah !  were  they  seeking  the  far-off  shore, 
That  lies  o'er  the  silent  sea  ? 

A  tiny  child !  yet  she  brings  a  thought 

That  nestles  soft  in  my  aching  heart. 
A  vision  oft  in  my  brain  has  wrought 
My  lost  ones  waiting,  in  fear,  unsought, 
Uncomforted  and  apart — 

But  murmurs  sweet  through  the  stillness  flow 
"  God's  happy  children  !  "  they  seem  to  say. 

"  Oh,  dear  is  earth,  but  never,  below, 

So  warm  and  tender  a  love  we  know, 
As  brightens  our  blessed  way  ! '' 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  63 


WEDDING  FAVORS. 


7]   summons  comes  from  the  west  to  the  east ; 
A)         From  crowded  city,  to  quiet  town  ; 
"  We  gather  our  friends  to  a  marriage  feast, 

For  we  give  our  daughter — "  then,  glancing 

down 

To  learn  whom  the  happy  groom  may  be — 
I  read  with  amazement — '-W.  P!" 

Not  Baby  Walter!     It,  surely,  seems 

But  yesterday,  or  the  day  before, 

His  mother  and  I,  with  our  childish  dreams, 
(Together  we  counted  scarce  a  score,) 

Were  as  busy  and  happy,  at  books  and  play, 

As  the  birds  and  bees  in  the  month  of  May. 

Dear,  little,  sunny,  rose-cheeked  friend  ! 

Not  a  hard,  or  bitter,  unloving  word, 
When  life's  rich  treasure  was  ours  to  spend, 

From  my  winsome  playmate  I  ever  heard. 
Only  fragrant  breezes  softly  blow 
Out  from  that  land  of  my  Long  Ago, 


64  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

But  another  dream  and  a  picture  fair 

Come  back  to  me,  as,  to-night,  I  muse, 

A  blue-eyed  boy,  with  his  clustering  hair — 

Once  more  I  glance  at  the  puzzling  news — 

That  wee,  small  prattler,  with  mischief  rife, 

Is  he  who  has  chosen  himself  a  wife! 

Well,  truth  is  strange,  in  this  world  of  ours ; 

It  must  be,  that,  through  childhood's  rosy  gate, 
The  baby  passed,  with  his  gathered  flowers, 

Into  manhood's  noble  and  broad  estate. 
May  he  prove  it  a  generous  heritage, 
A  boon  and  a  blessing  from  youth  to  age ! 

And  this  pearl  he  has  found  in  his  new  domain, 
The  crowning  grace  to  a  manly  life, 

May  its  soft  light  cheer  him  in  sun  and  rain, 

While  loving  husband  and  cherished  wife 

Rejoice  that,  through  pleasant  and  stormy  weather, 

They  have  chosen  to  walk  earth's  ways  together. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  65 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH. 


/^H,  the  queerest,  quaintest  things  are  little  children! 
V'     Now  exciting  us  to  laughter,  now  to  tears. 
Thrilling  us,  again,  with  bits  of  gravest  wisdom, 

Like  a  grandsire,  wise  with  weight  of  weary  years- 
Then,  as  sudden  as  the  lightning,  while  we  shiver 

With  the  fear  that  baby's  wings  are  fully  grown, 
Comes  a  flash  of  baby  mischief,  all  aquiver, 

With  the  merriment  that  only  earth  can  own. 

Grave,  or  gay,  the  tiny  creatures  hold  us  captive 

With  the  force  of  utter  earnestness  and  truth. 
Little  matters  how  absurd  a  dream  or  fancy, 

Seeming  is  the  very  real  to  artless  youth. 
This  my  thought,  while  listening,  lately,  much  di 
verted, 

To  a  little  dark-eyed  Charlie's  prattle  gay ; 
As  the  childish  voice  half  sung  and  half  asserted 

Baby  thoughts  that  sent  all  gravity  astray. 


66  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

While  I  write  the  joyous  face  is  bright  before  me, 
And  my  Charlie's  voice  rings  clear  as  a  silver 

bell  :— 

"Do  you  know  the  people  here  in  Mamma's  album  ? 
Never  mind !  You  see  their  names  I,  quick,  can 

tell." 

One  by  one  the  dear-prized  leaves  reveal  their  treas 
ure, 

Yielding  promptly  to  the  tiny,  ready  hand ; 
Baby's  comments  making  all  a  comic  pleasure. 
As  they  fall  from  sweetest  lips  in  all  the  land. 

By  and  by,  my  wee  man  finds  a  smiling  picture, 

Where  the  loving  hand  a  little  longer  stays, 
Cherished  still,  though  wanting  all  its  early  freshness, 

Constant  friend,  in  truth,  of  ante-nuptial  days ! 
This,  the  sage  remark  I  hear,  with  laughter  shaken, 

Was  my  fault  a  want  of  goodness  or  of  grace  ? 
"Here's  a  picture  of  my  precious  mamma,  taken 

When  she  had,  one  time,  you  know-#  dirty  face!" 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  67 


ANDOVER  BELLS. 


Written  for  the  Golden  Wedding  of  EMERY  and  HANNAH  (FROST) 
MERRILL,  Andover,  Maine,  December  n,  1884. 

the  years  roll  back  with  swiftness,  to  the  clear 
December  night 

Chosen  by  a  youth  and  maiden  for  the  solemn,  nup 
tial  rite, 

That  shall  link  their  lives  together,  doubling  joy, 
dividing  pain, 

Making  earth  to  bud  and  blossom,  like  an  Eden  come 
again. 

Though  the  song  of  bird  is  quiet  and  though  hushed 
the  singing  rills, 

All  the  air  is  full  of  music  and  the  heart  with  rapture 
thrills, 

Though  the  winter  rules  around  them,  lo  !  a  miracle 
appears ; 

Frost  has  vanished,  warmed  and  melted,  soft  dissolv 
ed  in  happy  tears. 

Pleasant  is  the  picture  dawning  from  the  dimness  of 
the  past ; 

Dipt  in  memory's  magic  mordant,  we  can  hold  its 
colors  fast. 


68  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

"  Gracious — kind,"    thus  runs  the  meaning   of   the 

name  the  records  show, 

Given  to  this  little  daughter — bride  of  fifty  years  ago- 
Fitting  title,  so  we  deem  it,  as  we  watch  her  standing 

there, 
Sweet,  yet  dignified  in  bearing;  blue-eyed,  modest, 

frank  and  fair ; 
Earnest,  thoughtful,  stands  she  waiting,  ready  for  her 

noble  part. 
He  no  idle  dreamer  loiters,  true  his  aim  and  strong 

his  heart ; 
Clear  of  vision,  prompt  in  action,  quick  to  grasp  and 

understand ; 
Reverent,  yet  trusting  boldly  to  his  vigorous  right 

hand. 
Each,  from  all  the  world,  has  chosen  one  to  honor 

and  to  love; 
One  to  trust,  through  all  earth's  changes,  next  to  Him 

who  rules  above  ; 
Forward,  to  the  untried  future,  fearlessly  they  take 

their  way ; 
Life  no  worthless  boon  to  either,  Heaven's  fair  gift, 

each  new-born  day. 
Willing  hands  they  give  to  labor ;  helpful  hands  to 

kindly  deeds ; 
Counsel  wise  to  all  who  seek  it ;    tender   care  for 

others'  needs. 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  69 

All  large  interests  engage  them,  public  welfare,  holy 

cause ; 
Staunch  supporters  of  the  Gospel,  education  and  the 

laws, 
Honored  in  their  generation,  loved  and  trusted  far 

and  wide, 
This  the  faintly-outlined  story  of  the  farmer  and  his 

bride. 


Beautiful  for  situation,  is  the  home  where  cluster, 

sweet, 
Precious    memories    of   childhood,  where    so  many 

dancing  feet 
Pattered,  on  their  busy  errands,  to  and  fro,  through 

every  room, 
Making  music  from  the  dawning,  till  the  evening's 

silver  gloom ; 
Manly  sons  and  graceful  daughters  grew  in  strength 

and  beauty  here, 
Loved  and  guarded,  trained  and  guided,  for  the  fut 

ure  coming  near ; 
Early  taught  in  ways  of  wisdom,  then,  with  blessing 

and  with  prayer. 
Sent  out  to  their  wider  culture,  trusted  to  a  Father's 

care. 

How  they  loved  the  fragrant  meadows,  spread  be 
neath  the  smiling  sun; 


yo  POEMS  FROM  TARE. 

Fruitful  field  and  shady  orchard,  where  their  rosy 
bloom  was  won  ; 

Dear  the  lovely  Ellis  river,  dear  the  flashing,  foaming 
rills ; 

Dear,  beyond  all  power  of  language,  Andover's  ma 
jestic  hills. 

Never,  though  to  lands  remotest,  it  should  be  their 
lot  to  roam, 

Will  they  cease  to  turn,  with  longing,  to  this  Para 
dise  of  home. 


But,  amid  our  joyous  measures, tender,loving  thoughts, 

to-night, 
We  must  give  the  little  treasures,  gone  so  early  from 

our  sight ; 
Parted  from  their  happy  circle,  tuneful  little  voices 

still, 
Yet  we  murmur  not  but  yield  us,  patient  to  the  Father's 

will, 
Knowing  well  He  loves  and  cares  for  the--.e  safe-folded 

lambs  in  Heaven, 
Just  as  surely  as  He  watches  over  all  the  earthly 

seven; 
Guards  the   group   beneath  the   roof-tree   and   the 

brother  far  away, 
Whose  regretted  absence  shadows  the  soft  sunshine 

of  to-day. 


POEMS  FROM  TARE.  71 

Here,  among  the  guests  assembled,  held  in  high  es 
teem  by  right, 

Some  there  are,  who  gave  their  God-speed,  fifty  years 
ago  to-night ; 

Few  they  number,  for  too  many  have  passed  on  be 
fore  the  rest 

To  the  heavenly  marriage-supper,  Golden  Wedding 
of  the  blest. 


Now,  while  wedding-bells  are  ringing  in  our  souls 
their  mellow  chimes 

And  our  hearts  stir  with  emotion,  that  disdains  all 
feeble  rhymes, 

We  would  gladly  yield  our  tribute  and  breathe  low 
the  fervent  prayer, 

That,  to  those,  who  fondly  love  them,  may  this  close- 
united  pair 

Long  be  spared  to  cheer  and  counsel,  rounding  out 
a  useful  life 

With  the  joy  and  rest  they  merit,  noble  husband, 
faithful  wife. 

Sons  and  daughters  rise  to  bless  them,  children's 
children  love  to  come 

Back  with  happy  song  and  laughter  to  the  dear,  famil 
iar  home. 

Out  from  this  fair  homestead  going,  wide  and  strong 
a  current  flows ; 


72  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

Who  can  tell  how  far  it  reaches ;  who  its  priceless 
value  knows  ? 

Fifty  years  of  faithful  living,  this  is  wealth  to  hold  in 
fee; 

Men  and  women,  nobly  nurtured,  goodly  is  the  sight 
to  see ! 

Such  the  lives,  true  and  uplifting,  justly  held  a  coun 
try's  pride, 

Reverent  Hail  and  Farewell !  give  we,  to  this  farmer 
and  his  bride. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  73 


BABY'S  DILEMMA. 


~T\  precious  baby-boy,  just  lisping  sweet, 

The  stubborn  accents  of  our  English  tongue, 
Prayed  for  a  boon  not  deemed  exactly  meet, 

By  Grandmamma,  who  o'er  his  cradle  hung. 
She  called  his  prattle  sweetest  in  the  land ; 

Yet  thought  it  wisest  not  to  understand ! 

The  pretty  child  looked  up  in  pained  dismay, 

His  little  face  a  study  to  behold  ; 
Grandma  deny,  who  kissed  him  every  day, 

And  held  him  dearer  far  than  gems,  or  gold? 
It  could  not  be  !     The  fault  was  all  his  own  ; 

"  Ebbie  can't  talk !"  he  said  in  piteous  tone. 

Ah,  baby  dear !     Thy  artless  cause  is  won. 

Grandma's  warm  heart  is  smitten  through  and 

through ; 
Three  little  trusting  words  have  quickly  done 

What  rain  of  passion's  tears  could  never  do. 
With  prayer  fulfilled,  the  little  one  is  blest; 

And  so  we  leave  him  to  his  rosy  rest. 


74  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


ALBUM  LINES. 


LL  ye,  who  love  a  soul  sincere  and  true  ; 
Who  kinship  claim  with  hearts  of  generous 

mold  ; 

Who  the  quick  sympathy  of  friend  e'er  knew, 

Write  on  these  pages  fair  in  words  of  gold. 

Write  for  the  joy  of  one,  who  lives  the  truth  ; 

Who  holds  a  helpful  hand  to  Sorrow's  child  ; 
Who  gives  her  tenderness  to  age  and  youth, 
Whose  way  leads  upward  to  the  Undefiled. 


POEMS  FEOM  YAEE.  75 


HELEN'S  BABIES. 


HY,  yes,  it  must  be  many  years, 

But  seems  as  yesterday, 
Since  Nellie  was  my  pupil,  dears, 
The  graceful  little  fay  ! 

Her  blue  eyes  brimmed  with  laughing  light ; 

Her  soft  cheek  was  aglow ; 
Her  gold  curls  fell,  a  lovely  sight, 

Around  a  brow  of  snow. 

As  merry  as  a  tricksy  elf, 

This  charming,  blue-eyed  Nell, 

It  must  be  of  her  pretty  self 
They  still  their  stories  tell. 

Yet  this  is  what  I  seem  to  hear ; 

They  said,  by  Southern  waters, 
Lived  happy  Nellie  and  two  dear, 

Delicious  little  daughters  ! 

These  babies  had  been  early  taught 

To  bow,  in  reverent  mood, 
When  their  papa  God's  blessing  sought 
Upon  their  daily  food. 


76  POEMS  FROM  YABE. 

The  tiny  sprites  had  journeyed  far . 

To  the  New  England  home, 
Where  sported  once  that  child-mamma, 

Down  by  the  salt  sea  foam. 

At  morning  meal  the  scene  was  new 
And  bright  eyes  roamed,  it  may  be  ; 

So  Bessie,  when  the  grace  was  through, 
Had  this  to  say  to  Baby  : — 

"  You  did  not  bow  your  head,  my  dear," 

She  spoke  in  accents  sober, 
"When  Papa  prayed."     'Twas  very  clear, 

Her  life  reached  late  October  ! 

" If  JEtessze's  eyes  were  shut  up  well" 

The  baby  archly  said, 
"  I  do  not  see  how  she  could  tell, 

I  did  not  bow  my  head  !" 


POMES  FROM  YAEE.  77 


CORA— A  DAUGHTER. 


RIEF  and  pretty  title  ; 

Full  of  meaning,  too. 
Do  you  know,  I  wonder, 
All  it  tells  of  you  ? 

Like  a  perfect  poem; 

Like  the  song  of  bird  ; 
So  much  pleasant  music 

In  a  single  word  ! 

Sweet  to  be  a  "daughter," 
In  a  sheltered  home  ; 

Needing  not,  nor  caring, 
Yet  awhile  to  roam  ; 

Cherished  and  enfolded 
By  the  purest  love, 

God  has  sent  to  show  us 
What  is  Heaven  above. 

Gentle  duties  wait  you, 
Every  day  and  hour ; 

Graceful  duties,  making 
Life  a  fragrant  flower, 


78  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

Yielding  truest  pleasure 
For  your  tender  thought, 

Into  loving  service 
Reverently  wrought. 

So  I  count  you  happy 
In  your  girlhood  free  ; 

Make  the  present  noble; 
Let  the  future  be. 

If  a  deeper  gladness, 

If  a  wider  life, 
Should  await  your  coming ; 

Or  a  sadder  strife, 

You  will  joy  or  suffer, 
With  a  truer  heart, 

If,  as  faithful  daughter, 
You  have  borne  your  part. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  79 


SEVEN  YEARS. 


~\H,  these  nights  in  the  young  September ! 
^     Autumn's  coolness  on  summer's  glow — 
Sitting  here,  how  can  I  but  remember 

All  the  charm  of  the  Long  Ago  ? 
Flashes  a  face  from  the  moonlight's  shimmer, 

Flushed  with  the  tinting  of   shells  on  the 

beach, 
Dark  grey  eyes  that  are  bright  with  the  glimmer 

Of   thoughts  that   shall    dawn    into   noble 
speech. 

Vanished  the  years,  and  I  stand  beside  you, 

Where  the  waters  come  up  to  the  shore, 
Proud  that  no  regal  gift  is  denied  you, 

Eager  to  gather  the  Future's  store. 
Little  I  pause  for  your  smile  at  my  dreaming, 

Well  I  interpret  your  lip's  decree ; 
"On,  like  that  highway  of  fairy-light  streaming, 

Shall  be  your  path  o'er  life's  wonderful  sea." 

I  spoke  with  a  thrill,  but  I  knew  not  how  truly. 

How  should  I  see  the  red  phantom  afar  ? 
Only  to  broaden  the  triumphs  then  newly 

Won  by  your  conflicts  at  desk  and  at  bar — 


8o  POEMS  FEOM  YAEE. 

This  my  sole  thought  as  the  glad  weeks  went 

by  us, 

Never  a  dream  of  the  perilous  strife, 
Never  a  vision  of  all  to  come  nigh  us, 

When  guilty  hands  threatened  the  nation's 
life. 

Yet  the  day  came,  and  then,  clear — without  falter, 

Rang  out  your  voice  with  its  clarion  call, 
"Down  with  the  foe  who  has  dared  to  assault  her, 

Dear-beloved  land  that  has  cherished  us  all!" 
Who  could  resist  all  that  manly  appealing  ? 

Was  it  a  marvel  men  gathered  in  crowds  ? 
"  Oh  !  it  is  grand,  how  these  days  are  revealing 

Souls  that  untroubled  prosperity  shrouds." 

Well,  you  could  say  it,  but  had  you  not  come  to 

them, 

Would  they  havejroused  into  action  sublime? 
Might  not  the  voice  of   the  Great  Need  been 

dumb  to  them, 

Wanting  your  touch  in  that  terrible  time  ? 
Warm  from  the  heart  came  the  truth  and  the 

pleading, 
Not  a  "Go  thou,"  but  a  frank  "  Come  with 

me;" 

Strong  and  yet  loving  the  hand  that  was  leading 
Whithersoever  the  danger  might  be. 


POMES  FEOM  TARE.  Si 

Bright  and  brief  as  that  sea-track  of  splendor, 

Swept  a  brave  life  to  its  patriot  close. 
"Shot — through  the    heart — one   more   gallant 

defender," 
Flashed  the  sharp  news  from  the  home  of 

our  foes. 
Then — well,  what  then?     When  a  blow  like  that 

falls  on  us, 

Shivers,  to  fragments,  Life's  beautiful  dream  ; 
Only — the  stern  voice  of  Duty  still  calls  on  us, 
Days  must  go  on,  though  they  wearisome 
seem. 

Yet,  as  I  sit,  mid  the  hush  and  the  glory, 

Stirred  out  of  calm  by  the  loss  and  the  pain, 
In  fancy  I  sketch  the  impossible  story, 

As  though  the  old  brightness  were  round 

me  again. 
Ah !    nevermore   here — but   beyond   these  sad 

changes, 

I  know  a  grand  spirit  still  soars  and  aspires, 
With  God-given  scope  for  the  mind  as  it  ranges, 
And  blessed  content  for  the  warm  heart's 
desires. 


82  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


CLARA— BRIGHT;  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


S)ROUD  is  the  title  ;  yet,  at  thought  of  thee, 
£>      A  brief  line  haunts  me  like  a  sweet  refrain ; 
It  paints  more  truly,  so  it  seems  to  me, 

And  is,  "  Like  the  clear  shining,  after  rain." 

Better  than  fame  are  the  clear  words  of  truth  ; 

Better  the  life  one  liveth,  free  from  stain. 
Then,  ever  be,  as  in  thy  gladsome  youth, 

Like  the  soft  splendor  that  comes  after  rain. 


WRITTEN  IN  AN  ALBUM. 


IF  thou  would'st  lift  thy  friends  to  lofty  heights, 
Expect  from  each  the  best  that  each  can  do; 
For  trust  in  man,  his  noblest  power  excites 

And  helps  him  on  to  all  things  just  and  true. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  83 

A  QUESTION. 


JOT  that  I  never  wondered  before, 

But  on  that  morning  I  wondered  more, 
What  little  boys'  heads  were  made  of ; 
The  snow  had  come  like  a  vision  of  night, 
Soft  and  silent  and  dazzlingly  white, 
Like  Floy's  dream-city  of  Nadov. 

Then  up,  with  the  earliest  beams  of  the  sun, 
Rose  Paul  and  Tommy  and  every  one 

Unscared  by  the  winter  weather ; 
Such  a  din,  as  they  muffled  and  capeied  and  sang, 
Then  a  jubilant  shout  through  the  whole  house  rang, 

As  they  all  trooped  off  together. 

I  quickly  parted  my  curtains  to  see 

What  the  sudden  joy  of  the  boys  could  be, 

And  held  my  breath  in  amazement ! 
A  high-topped  wall  they  had  gained  with  a  bound 
And  under  it  lay  a  feathery  mound, 

Not  far  away  from  my  casement. 

Up  mounted  a  trio  with  deafening  sound, 
While  two  laddies  stood  below  on  the  ground, 

I  wondered  why  for  a  minute; 
Then  three  little  forms  shot  swift  through  the  air 
Heads  downward,  vanishing,  where,  O,  where  ? 

"The  snow-mound,"  cried  Floy,  ''they're  in  it." 


84  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

All  but  the  six,  small,  quivering  feet, 

"They  will  break  their  necks !"  I  sprang  from  my  seat; 

"A  crazier  thing  was,  never  !" 
But  that  corps  de  reserve,  all  ready  to  act, 
Drew  out  the  dear  little  fellows  intact, 

As  rosy  and  sound  as  ever. 

Now  a  daring  leap  is  a  glorious  thing 
And  so  is  a  sky-ascending  swing 

Rare  joy  amid  joys  bucolic  ; 
But  a  reckless  venture,  it  seems  to  me 
With  a  head  for  a  battering-ram,  you  see, 

Is  a  dangerous  kind  of  frolic. 

Yet  the  boys  went  on  in  their  heedless  play, 
(I  thought  that  one  e  would  be  changed  to  a) 

And  still  not  a  woe  befell  them ; 
So  when  people  ask  as  they've  asked  before, 
What  heads  are  made  of,  I  say  it  is  more, 

Much  more  than  I  ever  can  tell  them. 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  85 

SONG— MARGARET. 


come  to  me  with  thy  presence  bright ! 

I  wait  for  thee,  I  have  waited  long ; 
O  let  me  thrill  with  the  old  delight 

Of  thy  dreamy  and  tender  song ! 
The  day  is  gone  with  its  darkness  drear ; 

The  night  blooms  out  like  a  lily  sweet ; 
O  come  to  me,  I  am  waiting  here 

For  the  sound  of  thy  footsteps  fleet. 

The  night  blooms  out  like  a  lily  fair 

Agleam  with  its  chrismal  bath  of  dew ; 
Its  soft  light  falls  on  thy  golden  hair 

And  a  face  that  the  soul  shines  through ; 
A  rare,  sweet  face  with  its  tender  glow, 

That  stirs  my  heart  to  its  olden  pain ; 
O  come  with  the  smile  that  I  used  to  know 

And  thy  low  voice's  clear  refrain. 

A  soft  breeze  stirs  in  the  leafy  bowers, 

A  light  step  quickens  my  pulse's  beat; 
It  is  she,  the  fairest  among  the  flowers, 

As  stately  and  calm  and  sweet ; 
But  the  rose  hue  burns  on  her  cheek  of  snow, 

As  I  gather  the  small  hand  closer  yet ; 
She  is  mine,  as  in  days  of  the  long  ago, 

O  my  pearl,  O  my  Margaret! 


86  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 


TREASURES. 


frolicsome  band  of  three — 
Bertie  and  Ralph  and  John — 
As  pretty  a  group  to  see 
As  ever  the  sun  shone  on. 

Bertie,  with  dark  blue  eyes, 
And  hair  in  clustering  curls, 

A  face  that  a  painter  would  prize, 
Thoughtful  and  fair  as  a  girl's. 

His  quaint  little  sayings  bring, 

(So  winsome  and  strange  and  wise,) 
Sometimes  our  laughter's  ring, 

And  sometimes  tears  to  our  eyes. 

Jackie,  as  blithesome  and  free 
As  lambs  that  skip  on  the  hills, 

A  voice  that  is  sweet  to  me, 

And  soothes  like  murmur  of   rills. 

Pale  little  rings  of  gold 

Lie  on  his  forehead  white, 
Gayest  one  of  the  fold, 

Blue  eyes  dancing  with  light. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  87 

Tiny,  but  graceful  and  strong, 

Speeding  like  bird  from  view  ; 
No  height  where  his  hands  belong, 

But  feet  must  follow  too. 

Brimming  over  with  glee, 

Never  two  moments  at  rest, 
Save  when  the  sunbeams  flee, 

And  he  seeks  his  cosy  nest. 

Baby  Ralph  closing  the  list, 

Blue-eyed,  too,  like  the  others, 
Doubling  his  plump  little  fist, 

Laughs  and  applauds  his  brothers  ; 

Longing,  no  doubt,  for  the  day 
Of  wonderful  strength  like  theirs, 

When  he  shall  gambol  and  play, 
Unawed  by  mountains  of  stairs. 

Our  frolicsome  band  of  three, — 

Bertie  and  Ralph  and  John, — 
As  pretty  a  group  to  see 

As  ever  the  sun  shone  on. 


POEMS  FROM  YARE. 


DESIDERANS  FINEM. 


I  come,  once  more,  into  my  little  room. 
Ended  is  every  weary,  bitter  task. 
Welcome  to  heart  and  brain  the  gathering  gloom  ; 
What  sweet  relief  to  throw  aside  this  mask ! 

My  pretty  room  !  How  bright  it  used  to  glow, 
How  filled  with  sunny  presence  all  day  long, 

What  waves  of  gladness,  in  their  golden  flow, 
Broke  from  my  happy  heart  in  grateful  song! 

I  could  not  bear  to  cloud  their  beaming  way, 
To  cast  the  shadow  of  my  woe  across 

Their  joyous  brows,  and  darken  all  the  day 
With  sad  reminders  of  my  heavy  loss ; 

And  so  I  strove  to  call  a  sound  of  cheer 
Into  the  voice  that  only  longed  to  moan, 

To  make  the  sunshine  in  my  eyes  appear 

And  summon  smiles  the  wrung  heart  must  disown. 

To  do,  with  all  the  strength  I  could  command, 
What  best  would  help  and  comfort  them,  I  thought, 

To  hold  my  heart  down  with  a  forceful  hand — 
Alas,  how  worse  than  vainly  have  I  wrought! 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  89 

"How  well  she  looks,  how  lightly  sits  her  grief! 

I  thought  her  speech  more  sorrow  would  reveal. 
"Pis  strange,  how  soon  the  sick  heart  finds  relief, 

But  there  are  they,  who  cannot  deeply  feel." 

Even  the  loving  little  boy,  who  bears 

That  precious,  precious  name,  reproachful,  said, 
Gazing  upon  me  with  fast-coming  tears, 

"Have  you  forgotten  that  my  uncle's  dead?" 

O  God,  it  is  too  much !     What  can  I  do  ? 

Help  me  to  bear  this  added  anguish  now. 
Why  must  they  cut  my  sore  soul  through  and  through? 

Why  press  the  thorns  into  my  bleeding  brow? 

I've  stood  with  him  upon  the  vessel's  deck 
He'd  trod  so  often  in  his  manly  pride, 

When  every  moment  threatened  it  a  wreck, 
Father,  if  then,  together,  we  had  died! 

Again,  in  peril  on  far  Southern  seas, 

The  dark  death-angel  brought  his  message  low. 
The  tempest  touched  me,  light  as  summer  breeze, 

My  soul  made  answer,  "It  is  sweet  to  go." 

Oh,  had  it  been!     Then  all  these. pangs  were  o'er. 

A  grave  with  him  beneath  those  wondrous  skies, 
A  home  with  him  upon  that  radiant  shore, 

Where,  from  blest  hearts,  immortal  praises  rise. 


90  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

In  the  thick  gloom  through  which  my  feet  must  tread, 
My  eyes  have  strengthened,  so  that  I  can  see. 

I  know,  now,  what  earth  means  without  my  dead, 
Life  is  not  life,  nor  is  death  death  to  me. 

Let  me  not  weakly  murmur.  Be  my  stay, 
O  Lord,  the  Merciful,  as  well  as  Just ! 

Keep  me  from  fainting  in  my  joyless  way, 

Till  the  sweet  words  are  uttered,  "  Dust  to  dust." 

I  sue  for  patient  strength  to  bear  my  cross, 
Till,  in  Thy  view,  Thy  holy  will  is  done ; 

To  bear  these  stinging  thrusts — my  being's  loss, 
Till  thou  shalt  crown  me  with  my  being's^sun. 


POEMS  FROM  TARE.  91 


COMFORTED. 


The  incident  on  which  the  following  poem  is  founded — and  which  took 
place  many  years  ago  in  a  town  near  Auburn — was  related  to  me  by  a  friend 
as  follows:  "A  lady  had  died  leaving  two  little  children  who  were  at  once 
adopted  into  another  home.  The  little  ones  mourned  greatly  over  their  loss, 
and  could  not  be  comforted.  On  one  occasion  they  were  weeping  bitterly, 
after  they  had  been  left  for  the  night,  when  the  family  were  suddenly  startled 
by  hearing  the  mother's  voice — which  was  perfectly  familiar  to  them  all— 
speaking  in  soothing  tones  to  the  little  creatures,  who  presently  hushed  their 
sobbing  and  went  quietly  to  sleep.  In  the  morning  mention  was  made  to  the 
children  of  their  crying  the  night  before  'Yes'  said  one,  'we  did  cry  till 
mother  came  and  got  us  to  sleep.'  The  affair  caused  no  little  excitement  at 
the  time,  in  the  town  where  it  occurred,  and  to  this  day,  in  speaking  of  it, 
people  can  only  say,  'what  a  singular  thing  it  was  that  happened  to  those  child 
ren  ! '  To  me  the  circumstance  seems  as  touching  and  beautiful  as  it  is  strange. ' ' 


TN  the  midst  of  the  glory  of  autumn  time, 
•*  When  the  world  was  aflush  with  the  wondrous  light 
That  slips  from  the  red  man's  blessed  clime, 
Ere  the  year  goes  out  in  night, 

Two  pale  hands  threaded  the  clustered  gold 
That  nestled  close  to  the  mother's  heart ; 

Ah,  sharp  is  the  sorrow  the  moments  hold 
With  dear  lives  drifting  apart ! 

One  long,  long  kiss,  that  must  be  the  last. 

"Grieve  not,  my  darlings  !     If  God  above 
Be  the  God  I  worship,  then — hold  this  fast — 

I  will  comfort  you  still  with  love." 


92  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

Fair,  so  fair  in  her  dreamless  rest ! 

Fragrant  flowers  on  her  bosom's  snow  ; 
Why  this  anguish  He  knoweth  best, 

Whose  just  hand  dealeth  the  blow. 

Gentle  the  accents  that  strive  to  cheer 
The  stricken  babes  in  their  lone  estate ; 

But  the  wee  ones  yearn  for  the  lost  and  dear 
Who  has  left  them  desolate. 

i 
At  night  as  they  wept  in  their  tiny  bed, 

Gold  curls  mingling  with  curls  of  jet, 
"Sad  little  creatures  !  "  a  maiden  said, 
"Their  sore  hearts  cannot  forget." 

"Hark!"  said  another,  "I  hear  her  call !  " 
And  soft  through  the  silence,  the  mother's  voice 

Floats  with  a  music  that  stirs  them  all 
To  wonder  and  yet  rejoice. 

A  tender  music  of  loving  speech  ; 

Low,  sweet  words  like  a  lullaby, 
Soothing  murmurs  the  listeners  reach, 

And  a  breath  like  a  human  sigh. 

A  startled  group  by  the  parlor  fire, 
With  strange  amaze  in  their  speaking  eyes ; 

But  the  children,  granted  their  hearts'  desire, 
Quiet  their  grieving  cries. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  93 

"You  wept  last  night !  "     As  the  lady  said, 
She  folded  the  lovely  pair  to  her  breast, 

"We  wept  until  mother  came  close  to  our  bed, 
And  soothed  us  into  our  rest ; 

"She  was  bright  and  fair  as  the  angels  are  ; 

We  saw  her  face  in  the  darkened  room 
For  the  dear,  dear  voice  that  had  seemed  so  far, 

Carried  away  the  gloom. 

"  She  kissed  us  both,  and  we  felt  no  fear ; 

And  she  talked  so  sweet,  till  the  pain  was  gone ; 
Then  the  first  we  knew,  you  were  standing  here, 

And  the  beautiful  day  was  born." 


94  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


WEE  MARGARET. 


WINSOME  little  Margaret, 
Tell  me,  are  you  ready  yet  ? 
I  am  waiting  with  my  sled, 
New  and  bright  and  painted  red, 
It  will  bear  you  like  a  queen, 
Dainty  little  Daisy  Deane. 

Pretty  little  Margaret, 
Did  you  think  I  could  forget  ? 
Come,  the  air  is  crisp  and  clear, 
Boys  are  coasting  far  and  near, 
We'll  outshine  them  all,  my  pet, — 
Dark-eyed  little  Margaret. 

Laughing  little  Margaret, 
Here  she  comes  with  curls  of  jet, 
Eyes  alight  and  cheeks  aglow, 
Like  two  roses  in  the  snow, 
Precious  little  roll  of  fur, 
Who  has  seen  the  like  of  her  ? 

Look,  dear  Baby  Margaret, 
See  your  name  in  gold  is  set, 
On  each  side  my  handsome  sled. 
It  was  done  by  Uncle  Ned. 
Now  we're  ready,  off  we  go, 
Dashing,  flashing  o'er  the  snow. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  95 


JESSIE'S  PROSPECT. 


T^ARK-EYED  little  Jessie 
*&'    Stood  beside  my  chair  ; 
Bright  her  eager  face  was, 
Free  from  every  care  ; 

Sweet  her  clear  voice  sounded 
As  she  murmured  low, 

"  I  will  tell  you,  something, 
That  you'd  like  to  know. 

"My  mamma  has  bought  a 
Cape  so  soft  and  warm, 

Made  of  fur  to  keep  her 

Safe  from  cold  and  storm. 

"  Now,  you  see,  when  she  has 
Grown  so  young  and  small, 

That  she  cannot  wear  it, 
Any  more  at  all, 

"I  shall  be  a  woman," 

Said  the  little  elf, 
"And  the  pretty  fur  cape, 

I  can  wear  myself." 


96  POEMS  FROM  TARE. 


CHARLIE'S  HARP. 


dear  little  fellow  lives  down  on  my  street, 
As  happy  a  lad  as  you  ever  would  meet, 
If  you  traversed  our  Uncle's  dominions  ; 
A  kind  little  heart  that  does  good  when  it  can, 
But,  though  he  is  such  a  mere  dot  of  a  man, 
As  firm  as  a  rock,  his  opinions. 

One  day  he  was  ill  from  a  "terrible  cold ;" 
So  he  took  up  a  harp  that  a  trader  had  sold 

Him  at  Christmas  for  dear  brother  Tom  ; 
"  I  want  one  just  like  it,"  he  said  to  a  friend, 
Who  had  dropped  in  an  hour  with  the  captive  to 
spend, 

"But  you  know  I  must  stay  where  'tis  warm," 

So  I  wish  you  would  buy  me  a  harp  just  like  this  ; 
I've  got  some  more  money  to  give  Mr.  Bliss, 

It  takes  only  eight  cents  to  buy  it." 
Off  went  Master  Harry,  as  grand  as  a  lord, 
His  money  held  fast  under  close  watch  and  ward, 

As  he  thought,  Charlie  says,  "  I  shall  try  it." 


POEMS  FEOM  YAEE.  97 

In  a  very  few  moments  young  Harry  came  back, 
And  drew  from  the  depths  of  his  bright-buttoned 

sacque 

A  tiny  harp  wrapped  all  in  paper ; 
"  I  paid  only  six  cents ;  the  others  were  ten," 
"  Dear  me  !  who'd  have  thought  it  ?  "  up  sprang 

Charlie,  then, 
"  How  dare  he  serve  me  such  a  caper  ? " 

The  cold  was  forgotten  ;  on  went  his  surtout, 

And  he  cried,  as  he  stood  in  one  slipper,  one  boot; — 

"  He  shall  never  cheat  me  in  that  fashion  ! 
I  paid  only  eight  cents.     Come,  Harry,  don't  laugh!'' 
For,  in  his  excitement,  instead  of  his  scarf, 

He  had  tied  little  Vinnie's  red  sash  on. 

"Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Charlie,  my  lad," 
"I  want  a  big  harp  just  like  what  Tommy  had, 

And  I've  brought  back  this  poor  little,  mean  one 
I  paid  to  you  five  cents — and  one  cent — and  two ; 
I  counted  them  over,  I  know  it  is  true, 

And  I'll  take,  if  you  please,  a  big,  green  one." 

"  Very  well,  if  you  pay  me  the  four  cents  beside," 
The  trinket  was  tempting,  the  boy  sorely  tried, 

But  he  could  not  give  in  to  extortion. 
"  It  isn't  the  money  I'm  thinking  about," 
He  said  to  the  man,  as  he  turned  to  go  out, 

With  this — for  result  of  his  caution  ; — 


98  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 

His  six  precious  pennies  he  carried  once  more ; 
For  "  I  will  give  two,  but  I  cannot  give  four," 

He  resolved,  and  the  harp  left  behind  him. 
God  grant  little  Charlie  as  firmly  may  stand, 
For  the  truth,  and  the  right ,  and  as  prompt  be  his 
hand, 

When  sin,  or  temptation  would  bind  him ! 


POEMS  FROM  YARE.  99 


NELLIE'S  OPINION. 


((  r|7HE  merriest  people  are  best,  I  know," 

Said  wise  little  blue-eyed  Nell, 
As  we  all  sat  watching  the  fire-light  glow, 
While  the  evening  shadows  fell. 

"  The  merriest  folks  are  the  best,  I  know ; 

For  those  who  are  laughing  and  gay 
Are  the  ones  who  are  willing  to  stop  and  show 

Tired  people  an  easier  way. 

"There  is  Harry  Brown,  with  his  mischievous  face, 

That  never  is  sober  an  hour ; 
He's  always  ready  to  yield  his  place 

To  poor  little  Catharine  Tower, 

"  For  Katie  has  ever  so  far  to  walk, 

And  her  clothing  is  scanty  and  thin ; 

And  Harry,  he  hushes  the  boy's  rude  talk, 
And  lets  little  Katie  come  in. 

"  To-day,  as  we  came  home  from  school,  mamma, 

Past  the  brook  and  the  little  run, 
We  saw  foolish  Bessie,  and  young  Mr.  Carr, 

Who  is  always  so  full  of  his  fun. 


ioo  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

"  But  his  face  was  as  gentle  as  gentle  can  be, 

Because  of  her  trouble  and  pain. 
She  had  slipped  on  the  ice,  and  her  basket,  you  see, 

She  had  lost,  nor  could  find  it  again. 

"Now  stiff  Mrs.  Decker  and  Clarissa  Bray, 
With  that  solemn-faced  Joshua  Hyde, 

Who  thinks  it  is  sinful  to  laugh — well,  they 
Passed  her  by,  on  the  other  side. 

"  But  young  Mr.  Carr,  with  his  pleasant  face, 

Gave  poor  silly  Bessie  his  arm, 
And  led  her  along  to  an  easier  place, 

With  the  basket  he'd  saved  from  harm. 

"  So  the  merriest  people  are  best,  I  think ; 

And  if  I  were  hungry  and  poor, 
I  should  just  go  ask  for  my  food  and  drink 

Of  the  smiling  folks,  I  am  sure." 


POMES  FROM  YAEE. 


THE  MEETING-HOUSE  ON  THE  HILL. 


The  following  stanzas  were  suggested  by  a  late  plan  to  form  an  association 
for  the  preservation  of  the  old  Baptist  church  in  Yarmouth,  Maine.  This 
church,  which  was  erected  in  1797,  has  been  only  recently  vacated  by  the 
society  for  a  more  centrally  located  site.  It  is  proposed  to  convert  the  building 
into  a  reading  room  and  antiquarian  hall  for  the  preservation  of  relics,  of 
which  there  are  many  in  the  old  town  and  to  use  the  house  for  a  place  of 
pleasant  entertainment  for  old  and  young.  This  idea  owes  its  inception  to 
the  active  brain  of  Mrs.  George  W.  Hammond,  whose  generous  heart  and 
ready  hand  are  incessantly  occupied  in  plans  for  the  improvement  of  the 
village,  in  which  she  has  recently  made  her  home.  It  is  hoped  that  the 
children  of  the  church,  and  of  the  town  wherever  they  may  be,  will  kindly  aid 
*n  the  carrying  out  of  this  praiseworthy  enterprise. 

WE  blame  our  sires  for  a  ruthless  deed, 
That  swept  from  the  earth  away 
The  quaint  old  church,  where,  in  fear  and  need, 
The  people  came  to  pray. 

Where  they  sought,  though  with  peril  on  every  side, 

The  help  of  the  God  on  high, 
And,  strong  in  the  strength  of  their  guard  and  guide, 

Stood  ready,  at  call,  to  die. 

Our  hearts  are  stirred  by  the  story  old, 

Which  is  still  forever  new 
And  we  spare  no  words,  as  the  scenes  unfold, 

That  open  the  past  to  view. 


102  POEMS  FROM  TARE. 

Shall  we  work  such  ill  as  our  fathers  wrought 

And  the  Vandal  hand  again 
Be  lifted  against  a  church  dear-bought 

At  cost  of  toil  and  pain  ? 

The  cherished  church,  that  has  welcomed  long 

The  seeker  after  truth 
And  summoned  to  battle  against  the  wrong, 

Manhood  and  age  and  youth  ? 

Can  we  claim  no  spot  in  this  ancient  town, 
Where  the  children,  that  yet,  shall  be, 

May  come  and,  with  reverent  heads  bowed  down, 
The  storied  days  may  see  ? 

No  roof  that  has  echoed  the  fervent  prayer 
That  parted  the  solemn  gloom, 

The  praise  of  a  Father's  love  and  care, 

That  rang  through  the  lofty  room  ? 

We  can  spare  it  not.     Let  the  old  church  stand 
At  the  head  of  its  quiet  street ; 

Let  us  guard  its  walls  with  a  loving  hand 
And  bring  to  it  blossoms  sweet ; 

Make  it  fair  and  pleasant  to  old  and  young 
And  fill  it  with  light  and  cheer ; 

Let  the  page  be  read  and  the  song  be  sung, 
That  gladden  the  wintry  year. 


POEMS  FROM  TARE.  103 

Let  us  bring  to  it  relics  of  days  gone  by, 
Our  treasures  from  over  the  sea ; 

The  stores  of  the  past,  that  no  gold  can  buy, 
The  pride  of  our  birth-land  free. 

Let  the  old  church  stand  on  its  goodly  site, 

Made  beautiful  as  we  will ; 
A  trust  from  the  old-time  men  of  might, 

Our  Meeting-house  on  the  hill ! 


104  POEMS  FROM  Y ARE. 


ON  THE  TENTH  ANNIVERSARY  OF  A 
FRIEND'S  MARRIAGE. 


friends,  in  this  blank  envelope  please  find 
•*&'     Congratulations  for  the  years  behind. 
With  wishes  warm  that  a  new  decade  prove 
A  shining  path  rayed  round  with  peace  and  love ; 

Continual  comfort  in  the  little  man, 
Whose  happy  life  as  valentine  began  ; 
Blessing  and  honor  from  the  sad  hearts  cheered 
By  your  sweet,  generous  lives ;  from  all  endeared 

By  ties  of  kinship,  or  of  culture,  may 
Rare  pleasure  crown  you  on  your  wedding-day. 
Out  from  the  dark  I  send  this  little  prayer — 
God's  gracious  gifts  go  with  you  everywhere. 


POEMS  FBOM  YAEE.  105 


ESTELLE. 


71  NOTHER  golden  season  dropped  away 
A)         Into  the  past. 
I  count  its  moments  through  this  April  day, 

And  hold  them  fast; 
Wishing  their  presence,  sweet  as  latter  May, 

Might  longer  last. 

You  bring  to  me,  like  matchless  days  in  June, 

Brightness  and  calm ; 
And  from  a  nature  wondrously  in  tune, 

My  sad  thoughts  arm 
With  cheerful  courage,  as  with  strength  of  noon 

And  hope  like  balm. 

I  listen  to  the  melody  that  slips 

From  your  skilled  touch, 
The  magic  of  those  slender  finger  tips, 

Nor  wonder  much 
The  harmony  in  life,  as  on  the  lips, 

Is  ever  such. 


106  POEMS  FEOM  YAEE. 

Tis  good,  oh  friend  of  many  gifts,  to  see 

A  fine,  fair  face, 
And  know  a  mirror  true  'twill  ever  be 

Of  the  soul's  grace, 
The  mind's  high  nature  that  bids  folly  flee, 

Gives  virtue  place. 

I  linger  over  hours  that  you  have  made 

Bright,  sweet  and  strong, 
And  mourn  the  debt  has  been  so  ill-repaid 

Of  blessed  song, 
Of  sympathy,  whose  memory  will  not  fade, 

Though  life  last  long. 

And  in  these  years  that  have  swept  slowly  by, 

The  shadow  fell 
Upon  your  perfect  days,  from  cloudless  sky. 

You  heard  the  knell 
Of  loving  hopes,  and  yet  you  patient  cry  : — 

"  I  know  'tis  well !  " 

While  you  look  back  upon  the  sunlit  past, 

And  feel  the  glow 
Of  the  great  love,  that,  sure,  in  heaven  must  last, 

It  cherished  so, 
The  friend  on  whom  so  many  hopes  were  cast, 

Sweet  years  ago  ! 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  107 

Whatever  joy  the  future  has  in  store, 

Whatever  pain  ; 
If  we  at  length,  reach  safe  the  shining  shore, 

Where  Love  doth  reign, 
It  will  be  well,  though  we  were  wounded  sore, 

Such  peace  to  gain. 


io8  POEMS  FROM  YAEE. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 


T.  G.  C. 

T]    fairer  home  than  earth 
tr*     Claims  heart  of  noblest  birth  ; 
His  duties  bravely  done, 
An  early  crown  is  won 
And  he,  whose  death  we  mourn, 
To  fuller  life  is  borne. 


M.  D.  C. 

A  little  life  begun ; 
One  little  glad  note  sung; 
Then  rest  and  joy  in  Heaven 
And  tender  nurture  given  ; 
Sweet,  with  the  Father's  love, 
The  full  strain  flows  above. 


J.  C.  S. 

She  wrought  with  tireless  hand 
To  guard  her  little  band 
And  loyal  sons  to-day 
Their  grateful  tribute  pay ; 
Loss,  grief  and  pain  are  past 
And  Heaven  is  her's,  at  last, 


POEMS  FROM  Y ARE.  109 

C.    T.   C. 

He  walks  the  streets  he  longed  to  see ; 

He  hears  the  music  of  his  dreams ; 
The  truth  he  sought  with  ardor, Hie 

Reads  plain  beside  Heaven's  crystal 
streams. 


A.  L.  D. 

She  was  our  treasure,  yet  we  leave  her  here 
And  go  our  way  without  her  love  and 

light; 
Trusting  to  see,  when  sight  has  grown  more 

clear, 

Why  day's  soft  glory  changed  to  moonless 
night. 


I  io  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 


ETHELIND. 

T  have  never  told  you  of  Ethelind, 

•••      But  you  weary  so  of  your  burden,  child, 

And  you  droop  so  sore  under  grief's  cold  wind, 

While  your  blue  eyes  gather  a  look  so  wild, 
It  may  rest  and  strengthen  your  heart  to-night, 

To  hear  of  a  brave  little  girl  I  knew 
Many  years  agone,  with  an  eye  of  light 

And  a  soul  that  was  fashioned  of  spirit  and  dew. 

Not  a  faultless  form,  not  a  perfect  face, 

Though  the  first  was  slender  and  lithesome,  too 
And  the  last  was  full  of  the  nameless  grace, 

That  the  soul  sends  out  to  the  keen  eye's  view; 
Not  a  shining  curl,  but  the  smooth  hair  swept 

Back  from  a  brow  that  was  pale  with  pain ; 
Not  a  rose-bud  mouth  where  the  dimples  slept 

And  waited  for  love  to  make  them  again, 

But  power  in  the  firm  lip's  quick  control 

And  swift,  from  the  depths  of  the  wondrous  eye, 

Came  the  flash  of  a  beauty  and  strength  of  soul 
Earth's  richest  argosy  could  not  buy ; 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  HI 

Eyes  all  too  large  for  a  face  so  thin, 

Yet  they  thrilled  me  and  held  me,  like  a  spell, 
So  earnest  and  pure  from  the  life  within  ; 

So  brimmed  with  a  meaning  no  words  could  tell. 

Such  a  wee,  strange  child,  so  daintily  neat ; 

The  small  hands  so  faithfully  ply  their  task, 
While  the  play-ground  echoes  to  little  feet 

And  her  truant  mates  in  the  sunshine  bask ; 
But  the  dark  eyes  love  to  wander  away 

To  the  woods  and  rocks  and  the  sounding  shore 
And,  at  twilight,  her  fancy  gone  astray, 

Hears  the  shadows  trooping  from  hill  and  moor- 

Oh,  why  do  you  look  at  me  so,  dear  child  ? 

I  am  sketching  no  saintly  maiden  now, 
But  a  girl  with  a  nature  deep  and  wild 

And  a  soul  undaunted,  that  could  not  bow. 
They  called  her  arrogant,  haughty  and  cold 

As  she  passed  on  lightly  adown  the  years, 
Too  grave  and  stern,  I  was  sometimes  told, 

Unmoved  as  little  by  smiles,  as  tears. 

Perhaps.     But  she  never  from  truth  would  part ; 

A  hater  of  shams  from  her  inmost  soul ; 
Cold  ?     Then  is  the  volcano's  molten  heart 

As  frigid  as  ice  at  the  wintry  pole ; 


112  POEMS  FBOM  YARE. 

At  war  with  the  tyrant  of  pain,  from  her  birth, 

Such  pain  as  would  conquer  a  giant's  strength  ; 

Small  leisure  was  left  her  for  careless  mirth, 

Yet  she  wrought  with  the  will  that  must  conquer 
at  length. 

No  genius  was  hers  with  a  lofty  flight, 

Mounting  at  ease  from  the  mists  and  pain, 
But  wearisome  toil  up  the  shining  height 

And  delving  for  treasure,  grain  by  grain. 
No  gifted  mistress  of  matchless  song, 

Though  her  voice  held  music  most  strangely 

sweet, 
Not  an  eloquent  lip,  but  thoughts  would  throng 

And  glow  from  the  dark  eyes  calm  retreat. 

Little  May,  can  you  catch,  from  my  impotent  tongue, 

Some  sense  of  this  nature,  so  proud,  so  strong? 
Could  it  bear,  do  you  think,  its  great  love  flung 

Back  from  a  false  heart  it  had  trusted  long  ? 
No  quivering  lip  and  no  drooping  eye, 

While  scorn  lay  so  deep  it  could  not  be  read ; 
Not  a  thought  turned  back  from  her  purpose  high 

By  the  rising  moan  over  gladness  fled. 

And  the  years  brought  joy  that  was  sweet  and  strange, 
The  priceless  wealth  of  a  manly  heart ; 

The  strong,  true  love  that  could  know  no  change 
Though  fate  should  lead  ever  their  lives  apart. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  113 

Rich-dowered  with  his  kingly  gifts,  he  stood, 
And  eager  to  battle  for  truth  and  right ; 

No — not  for  this  life — was  that  radiant  good, 

Death's  darksome  billows  whelmed  all  in  night. 

At  the  lucent  depths  of  those  changeful  eyes, 

Forever  a  haunting  anguish  lay  ; 
No  more,  glad  songs  from  her  heart  would  rise, 

Yet  the  brave  soul  kept  on  its  steadfast  way ; 
A  quiver  of  pain  in  the  sweet  voice's  tone, 

But,  from  strength  to  strength,  till  her  feet 

should  stand 
Above  the  steeps  of  this  earthly  zone 

Unfettered  and  free  in  the  Fatherland. 


POEMS  FROM  YABE. 


WITH  A  LITTLE  GIFT. 


Sue,  I  send  a  tiny  harp 
-*®'    With  love's  own  music  inrit; 
If  I  could  write  that  music  out, 
How  gladly  I'd  begin  it. 

But  when  your  skilful  fingers  touch 

The  little  shining  token, 
Perhaps  'twill  sing,  itself,  the  words 

Not  easy  penned  or  spoken. 

And  you  may  know  these  slender  strings 
(So  slight,  yet  so  enduring,) 

Are  loving  thoughts  that  link  us  two, 
All  mem'ries  sweet  ensuring, 

And  that  the  golden-silken  band, 
That  holds  them  in  connection, 

No  purer  is,  or  stronger  than, 
The  bond  of  true  affection, 

Go,  little  harp,  and  breathe  your  lay 
In  love's  most  tuneful  numbers ; 

Go,  waken  happy  thoughts,  by  day, 
And  soothe  her  to  her  slumbers. 


POEMS  FROM  YAEE.  115 


THE  MOTHER'S  LULLABY. 


is  the  hour  that  lures  each  little  ranger 
^— '   Back  to  the  charms  of  the  happy  home-nest; 
Proudly  recounted  each  exploit  and  danger, 

Baby  griefs  wept  out  on  pitying  breast. 
Holy  the  vision  of  childish  forms  kneeling — 

Smile  though  we  may,  little  maid,  little  man ! — 
"  Please  fordive  Harry,"  thus  runs  the  appealing, 

"And  all  of  the  rest  of  us,  too  if  you  tan ! " 

Quaint  little  orisons,  soon  they  are  over, 

Rosy  lips  sealed  with  the  comforting  kiss ; 
Silently  slumbers  the  tired  little  rover, 

Earth  hath  no  scene  that  is  purer  than  this. 
Low  droops  the  mother's  fair  head  o'er  her  treasures; 

"  Father !  oh  guide  them,  oh,  keep  them  from 

harm ; 

Grant  them — far  more  than  the  world's  choicest 
pleasures — 

Infinite  love  and  the  strength  of  Thine  arm  !  " 


n6  POEMS  FROM  YARE. 

Two  little  tender  forms,  weary  with  weeping, 

Two  little  aching  hearts  wounded  and  sore ; 
Two  little  orphans,  who,  waking  or  sleeping, 

Yearn  for  the  footsteps  that  echo  no  more. 
Two  golden  heads  on  one  pillow  are  lying, 

Soft,  rounded  cheek  and  long  eyelashes  wet ; 
Loving  arms  linked  'mid  their  sorrowful  crying, 

Sad  little  mourners,  they  cannot  forget ! 

Hark  !  through  the  night-tide  low  music  is  stealing ; 

Brightens  the  gloom  to  wide,  wondering  eyes, 
Vision  of  joy  to  their  glad  sight  revealing 

Dear-beloved  form  in  its  angel-disguise. 
Eager  they  gaze — there  can  be  no  mistaking — 

Sweet  mother-tones  are  caressing  the  ear ; 
Smiles,  like  the  dawn  from  the  dark  tempest  breaking, 

Bring  to  the  stricken  babes  comfort  and  cheer. 

Touch,  light  as  down,  upon  lovely  brow  lingers ; 

Thrills  the  young  heart  with  an  exquisite  peace; 
Soothed  by  the  chrism  of  love-freighted  fingers, 

Sorrow  and  sobbing  grow  fainter  and  cease. 
Slowly  fringed  eyelids  droop  over  the  gladness 

Throned  in  blue  eyes  that  knew  only  to  weep  ; 
Sweet  lips,  forgetting  their  burden  of  sadness, 

Falls  now  the  soft  benediction  of  sleep. 


POEMS  FROM  YABE.  117 


A  QUARTETTE. 


PAVE  you  heard  of  the  birds,  little  Ethel, 
That  live  in  the  warm  south  land  ? 
Some  are  of  glittering  plumage 

And  some  are  a  strange-voiced  band ; 

But  the  oddest  of  all,  I  fancy, 

Are  the  birds  that  have  won  their  name 
From  the  quaint  little  words  they  utter, 

And  the  words  are  always  the  same. 

Close  down  by  your  door  sits  a  birdie 

And  cries,  as  you  come  into  view ; 

Or  he  calls,  quite  near,  if  you're  walking, 

"  Who  are  you  ?  who-who-who  are  you  ? " 

Another,  wise  little  songster, 

Bids  you  cheerily  all  the  day, 

Whether  you're  going,  or  coming, 

"  Work  away,  work-work-work  away  !  " 


u8  POEMS  FROM  TARE. 

A  third  little,  sorrowful  singer, 

In  his  queer,  little  notes  of  woe, 

Wails  out  his  pitiful  pleading, 

"  Willie,  Willie,  come  go ;  come  go  !  " 

And,  far  away  up  the  country, 

A  fourth,  you  have  heard  of  him,  still 
His  place  is  here  with  the  others,  yes, 

Tis  the  Whippoorwill,  "  Whip-poor-Will." 


POMES  FROM  YAEE.  119 


HIS  LAST. 


T  T  THAT  shall  we  do  with  our  darling,  our  baby  ? 
^^    Winsome  and  sweet,  but  so  full  of  his  pranks; 
If  you  can  tell  us,  one  dear  little  lady 

Will  owe  you  her  truest  and  heartiest  thanks. 

Listen  !    This  morning,  though  rain-drops  were  falling 
Into  the  town  must  ride  little  mamma ; 

"  Overshoes,  dearie  !  "  came  grandmamma,  calling, 
"  Close  by  the  door  that  is  left  just  ajar." 

Little  mamma  looked  in  vain  all  about  her  ; 

Wardrobe,  nor  hall  would  the  secret  confess ; 
Gone  were  the  overshoes,  no  one  could  doubt  her ; 

Where  they  had  hid  themselves,  no  one  could 
guess. 

Hid  themselves !     Ah,  when  the  noon  is  advancing 
And  the  good  grandmother  lays  her  neat  board; 

What  an  odd  light  in  her  dark  eyes  is  dancing, 
As  she  peeps  in  where  her  light  loaves  are  stored  ! 


120  POEMS  FROM  YABE. 

There,  on  the  fragrant  mounds,  there  are  the  missing 
ones ! 

Oh,  such  a  baby !     Now  what  can  we  do  ? 
Shall  we  be  chiding  ones,  shall  we  be  kissing  ones  ? 

Say,  little  Linda,  which,  if  it  were  you  ? 


POEMS  FEOM  YAEE.  121 


THE  OLD  ALBUM. 


PERE,  in  the  midst  of  the  jubilant  joy 
Born  of  the  beauty  of  earth  and  sky, 
I  turn,  with  a  thrill,  to  the  old  employ, 
That  claimed  its  tribute  from  maiden  and  boy, 
In  the  sweet  years  long  gone  by. 

For  lo  !  as  I  softly  rustle  the  leaves, 

Fragrant,  yet,  with  the  young  heart's  prayer, 

A  sacred  trio  my  sight  receives, 

And  thought  that  gladdens,  and  thought  that  grieves, 
Awake  with  the  music  there. 

One  sings  of  eternity's  "  Peace  or  Pain," 

And  "None  But  Christ,"  is  another's  thought; 

While  the  third  brings  back,  with  his  pleasant  strain, 

The  earnest  voice  in  the  holy  fane, 

That  Sabbath  on  Sabbath  brought. 


122  POEMS  FBOM  YAEE. 

Sweet  to  recall,  with  their  gifts  and  grace, 

The  faithful  guides  to  our  young  lives  given, 

Though  gone  from  our  vision  each  well-loved  face, 

Two  called  higher  to  earthly  place, 

And  one  called  higher — to  Heaven. 

Sure,  not  in  vain  were  you  daintily  wrought, 

Little  volume  in  scarlet  and  gold  ! 
Since,  through  the  years  with  their  changes  fraught, 
Blessing,  like  this,  you  have  silently  brought, 

Treasure  that  never  grows  old. 


POEMS  FEOM  YAEE.  123 


AT  THE  GATE. 


QJOMETIMES,  when  the  warm,  toilsome  day  is  done, 
^-^  We  linger  long  beneath  the  twilight  sky ; 
The  air  is  chill,  for  vanished  is  the  sun, 

Our  limbs  are  weary  and  our  home  is  nigh, 
Our  smiling  home,  where  loved  ones  watch  and  wait, 

Yet,  stand  we,  not  unhappy,  at  the  gate. 

And  thus  our  friend  revered,  whose  task  is  o'er, 
The  burden  of  a  century's  joy  and  pain, 

We  see,  still  pausing  by  the  open  door, 

To  look  on  earth's  familiar  scenes  again  ; 

Fair  is  the  home  beyond,  where  loved  ones  wait, 
Yet  rest  the  little  hands  upon  the  gate. 

The  twilight  deepens  ;  night  comes  on  apace. 

We  cross,  with  hasting  steps,  the  threshold  o'er 
A  joyous  welcome  beams  from  every  face 

And  we  remember  care  and  toil  no  more ; 
In  the  sweet  atmosphere  of  peace  we  bide 

And  all  our  earthly  need  is  satisfied. 


124  POEMS  FROM  TARE. 

This  patient  friend,  who  waits  the  Master's  will, 
Bearing  the  sheaves  of  many  a  weary  year, 

We  would  detain  a  little  longer  still 

Till  the  completed  century  appear ; 

But,  if  earth's  skies  grow  dark,  Heaven  will  be  bright^ 
And  welcome  her  to  all  its  love  and  light. 


CONTENTS. 


A  GIFT  OF  POEMS,  38 

AGNES,  ....      9 

ALBUM  LINES,      -  -        74 

A  LITTLE  COMFORTER,  -                                        -    61 

A  MEMORY,    -  18 

ANDOVER  BELLS,    -  ...    67 

APPEAL,  ,       ...        57 

A  QUARTETTE,  -        -        -        -  117 

A  QUESTION,  ....        83 

AT  THE  GATE,  -        -        -        -  123 

BABY'S  DILEMMA,  73 

BABY'S  PICTURE,    -  -        -    47 

BY  THE  FIRE,  -        -        42 

CAROLYN,  -  30 

CHARLIE'S  HARP,  ....        96 

CLARA— BRIGHT ;  ILLUSTRIOUS,  -    82 

COMFORTED,  ...        91 

CORA— A  DAUGHTER,  77 

DEPARTURE,  59 

DESIDERANS  FINEM,      -  88 

EDITH,  -        14 

ESTELLE,  ...  105 

ETHELIND,  -        -        -      no 

FAILURE  -    43 

FOR  ANNA  B.  N , 56 

FOR  "BROWNIE'S"  ALBUM, 37 


CONTENTS.  127 

PAGE. 

GRACE,     ---  25 

HELEN'S  BABIES,     -  -    75 

HER  BIRTHDAY,  -        -        53 

HIS  LAST,   -  119 

IN  MEMORIAM,  -        -        -        -      108 

IN  THE  SHADOW,  -        -        .        .    4S 

JESSIE'S  PROSPECT,  ....        95 

KITTY'S  MISSION,     -  29 

KITTY  PENDLETON,    -  -        27 

LED   HOME,  -     1 6 

LEILA,  41 

MY  CHRISTMAS  CUP,  -    49 

MY  DREAM,     •  20 

NELLIE'S  OPINION,  ....    99 

ON  THE  TENTH  ANNIVERSARY  OF  A  FRIEND'S 

MARRIAGE,  -        -        -        -      104 

RESPICIENS,       -  22 

SEVEN  YEARS,       -  79 

SONG— MARGARET,  -        -    85 

THE  BLESSING  OF  THE  ICE  CREAM,     -  -        12 

THE  MEETING-HOUSE  ON  THE  HILL,      -        -        -  101 
THE  MOTHER'S  LULLABY,  -        -        -      115 

THE  OLD  ALBUM,     -  -       -       -       -  121 

THE  OLD  CHURCH  UNDER  THE  LEDGE,     -       -        32 
THE  THOUGHTS  OF  LITTLE  MAY,  -    50 

THE  PHOTOGRAPH,      - 65 

TO  M.  D.  W., 36 

TREASURES, 86 

VIOLETS, -       ...      7 

WEDDING  FAVORS,       -       - 63 

WEE  MARGARET, 94 

WITH  A  LITTLE  GIFT, -      114 

WRITTEN  IN  AN  ALBUM, 82 


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